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ASTOUNDING
SCIENCE FICTION
RH. u. 9. Put Of.
CONTENTS
AUGUST, 1944 VOL. XXXIII, NO. 6
NOVELETTES
THE Bid AND THE LITTLE, bv Imoo Alf MOV . 7
BRIDGEHEAD, bp Frank Belknap Long ... 1X0
SHORT STORY
JUGGERNAUT, bv A. E. van Vogt 05
SERIAL
RENAISSANCE, by Raymond F. Jomi .... 05
Throe Parts — Part Two
ARTICLES
PROBLEM IN EIGHT DIMENSIONS . . . »9
REFRACTION AND LENSES, by Gene Mitchell 105
READERS’ DEPARTMENTS
THE EDITOR'S PAGE 8
THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY .... 119
IN TIMES TO COME 119
editor COVER BY TIMMINS
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Education
It costs something like thirty thousand
dollars to train an Air Force pilot,
somewhat less to educate and train navi-
gators, bombardiers, gunnery officers,
ground - crew mechanics, tank - mainte-
nance men, and the like. The tens of
billions of dollars being poured into the
war by the United States Government
aren't all— or even nearly all— going to
buy guns, tanks, fighting planes and ships,
A stupendous sum is spent to buy train-
ing planes, ground-school equipment, edu-
cational demonstration equipment, gaso-
line and parts for training planes and
tanks. More millions and hundreds of
millions are poured out in the task of
training highly specialized electronics
technicians, in training instructors to
train men, in developing new methods of
education that will turn an illiterate into
a competent soldier in six weeks instead
of six. years.
It's a curious phenomenon of human
nature that a club is so effective a means
of getting knowledge inside the hard bone
case of the skull of homo sapiens. War
is supplying that club. The result is an
educational program on a scale no nation
ever considered as a remote possibility
in peacetime. No population would stand
for the enormous expenditure of wealth
for the mere education of young men by
the national government. It's inconceiv-
able that the National Budget should
carry an item of twenty billion dollars
for technical education in times of peace.
In times of war, the club enforces wis-
dom in a hurry. Millions of young, in-
telligent men— men selected for their own,
personal inherent ability to learn, not for
the abilities their parents may have dis-
played in accumulating the world’s goods
— are being given an education that no
more than a few thousands could afford
— and those thousands who could afford
it would, quite probably, include a very
sizable proportion who would (a) be
unable to absorb it, (b) never use it, or
(c) never apply it after taking advan-
tage of the opportunity.
With the program of education this
nation has been forced into— an education
in the use of the most advanced, most
highly technical power machinery, the
most intricate accomplishments of physi-
cal sciences — we will end the war with
victory, and an army of high-level tech-
nicians such as never existed in all his-
tory. The effect on the world— naturally,
most particularly on the United States —
is uncquivocably beyond calculation. The
world has had a sort of halfway machine
age rather severely limited by lack of
high-level technicians. Electronic con-
trols in industry, for instance, have lagged
far, far behind possibilities, because of
lack of trained servicemen. The radio
mechanic, generally speaking, has a
sound, practical working knowledge of
radio broadcast type circuits, and elec-
tron-tube applications — but that does not
include saw-tooth, square-wave, and sim-
ilar curious types of AC wave generators.
EDUCATION
Il doesn't include some of the strange
inversions of vacuum tube circuits when
they’re used in counter circuits, timing
circuits, and the like. Men with far more
knowledge of the theory of electronics
were needed — and the Anny needed them,
too. They’ll be available after the war.
: Incidentally, the electronics business has
already passed, Jn dollar volume of pro-
duction, the pre-war automobile indus-
try.
Technicians trained for servicing Army
and Navy planes will form an available
group of really competent servicemen for
private plane maintenance work. It’s all
very fine to talk about tens of thousands,
even millions of private planes in the
post-war world — but the idea is com-
pletely impracticable if the only available
service organizations are automobile me-
chanics. It was, to some extent, possible
for the horseshoe expert, the village
blacksmith, to service the early automo-
biles. But the blacksmith can’t handle
the modern, highly evolved automobile,
and the expert automobile mechanic can’t
handle the highly specialized controls
systems of a modem plane. ‘'George,''
the automatic pilot, is several steps be-
yond the range of George, the first-rate
automobile expert.
This army of trained, high-level tech-
nicians our Array has educated will an-
swer a lot of industry's prayers— and
will, at the same time, force industry
forward by the pressure of their de-
mands for work of the caliber they arc
trained to handle. The clectroiucs-
weapons specialists won’t demand a job
in electronics-weapons work — but he will
want a job in service work on electronics.
Control systems that arc just a wee bit
below the level of independent thought
are possible — and we now have men ca-
pable of independent thought in the field
of electronics capable of servicing such
equipment.
A less formal, but equally drastic “edu-
cational program” has been at work on
the industrial firms themselves. War's
taught them an enormous number of basic
lessons in the theory of how-to-make-it-
quicker. “Quicker” usually meaning with
less manpower, fewer operations, and bet-
ter results. War demands enormous
quantities, to be used under the most
brutal operating conditions imaginable.
A mechanism fully sturdy enough for
five years of civilian, peacetime opera-
tion, a good commercial structure — wilt
burn out or break down in a day of mili-
tary work. A de luxe passenger car
is a fragile beauty, incompatible with
Burma jungle trails. A fine-quality radio
receiver becomes a shambles in an im-
measurably brief instant when exposed
to a slight backdraft from the muzzle
blast of a 16" rifle.
Industry’s been educated too— in the
cheap, quick manufacture of immensely
rugged equipment in immense quantity.
Somehow or other, thouglq our eco-
nomic system must undergo an equally
drastic education. The average produc-
tivity per nun per year has been raised
immensely. The quantity and quality
available is far higher. Economists
haven’t yet worked out a completely sat-
isfactory formula to make the economic
equivalent of the mathematical equation
1 = 1 come out even. Somehow, the
average consumption per family per year
must equal the average production per
family. Mathematically, 1 = 1 is very
simple indeed. It’s a shame tlut making
130,000,000 = 130,000,000 is so much
harder to work out.
The Editor.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION
The Big and the Little
l>y ISAAC ASIMOV
The Empire was dying — but even a dying colossus is a
terrible enemy. The Foundation was little, and had only
little things. Kitchen knives of atomic fame — against
the stupendous , ancient generators of the Empire!
Illustrated by Orban
“Three Dynasties molded the Be-
ginning: the Encyclopedists, the
Mayors, and the Traders — " ("Es-
says on History/’ Ligurn Vier.)
I.
Jorane Sutt put the tips of care-
fully-manicured fingers together
and said, "It’s something of a puz-
zle. In fact — and this is in the
strictest confidence — it may be an-
other one of llari Seldon’s crises.”
The man opposite felt in the
pocket of his short Smymian jacket
for a cigarette, "Don’t know about
that, Sutt. As a general rule, poli-
THE BIO AND THE UTTIJ
ticians start shouting ‘Seldon crisis’
at every mayoralty campaign.”
Sutt smiled very faintly, “I’m
not campaigning, Mallow. We’re
facing atomic weapons, and we
don’t know where they’re coming
from.”
Ilober Mallow of Smyrno, mas-
ter trader, smoked quietly, almost
indifferently. “Go on. If you have
more to say, get it out.” Mallow
never made the mistake of being
overpolite to a Foundation man.
He might be an Outlander, but a
man’s a man for a’ that.
Sutt indicated the trimensional
star-map on the table. He adjusted
the controls and a cluster of some
half-dozen stellar systems blazed
red.
“That,” he said quietly, “is the
Korcllian Republic.”
The trader nodded, “I’ve been
there. Stinking rathole! I sup-
pose you can call it a republic but
it’s always someone out of the
Argo family that gets elected
Conundor each time. And if you
ever don’t like it — things happen to
you.” He twisted his lip and re-
peated, “I’ve been there.”
“But you’ve come back, which
hasn’t always happened. Three
trade ships, inviolate under the
Conventions, have disappeared
within the territory of the Republic
in the last year. And those ships
were armed with all the usual nu-
clear explosives and force field de-
fenses.”
“What was the last word heard
from the ships?”
“Routine reports. Nothing else.”
“What did Korell say?”
Sutt’s eyes gleamed sardonically.
"There was no way of asking. The
Foundation’s greatest asset through-
out the Periphery is its reputation
of power. Do you think we can lose
three ships and ask for them ?”
“Well, then, suppose you tell me
what you want with me”
Jorane Sutt did not waste his
time in the luxury of annoyance.
As secretary to the mayor, he had
held off opposition councilmen, job-
seekers, reformers, and crackpots
who claimed to have solved in its
entirety the course of future his-
tory as worked out by Hari Sel-
dom With training like that, it
took a good deal to disturb him.
He said methodically, “In a mo-
ment. You see, three ships lost
in the same sector in the same
year can’t be accident, and atomic
power can be conquered only by
more atomic power. The question
automatically arises: if Korell has
atomic weapons, where is it getting
them from?”
“And where does it?”
“Two alternatives. Either the
Korellians have constructed them
themselves — ”
“Farfetched 1”
“Very! But the other possibility
is that we are being afflicted with a
case of treason.”
“You think so?” Mallow’s voice
was cold.
The secretary said calmly,
“There’s nothing miraculous about
the possibility. Since the Four
Kingdoms accepted the Foundation
Convention, we have had to deal
with considerable groups of dissi-
dent populations in each nation.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Each former kingdom has its pre-
tenders and its former noblemen,
who can’t very well pretend to love
the Foundation. Some of them are
becoming active, perhaps.”
Mallow was a dull red. “I see.
Is there anything you want to say to
me? I’m a Smyrnian.”
“I know. You’re a Smyrnian —
born in Smyrno, one of the former
Four Kingdoms. You're a Founda-
tion man by education only. By
birth, you’re an Outlander and a
foreigner. No doubt your grand-
father was a baron at the time of
the wars with Anacreon and Loris,
and no doubt your family estates
were taken away when Sef Ser-
mak redistributed the land.”
“No, by Black Space, no! My
grandfather was a blood-poor son-
of-a-spacer that died heaving coal
at starving wages before the Foun-
dation. I owe nothing to the old
regime. But I was born in Smyrno,
and I’m not ashamed of either
Smyrno or Smyrnians, by the Gal-
axy. Your sly little hints of trea-
son aren’t going to panic me into
licking Foundation spittle. And
now you can either give your or-
ders or make your accusations. I
don't care which.”
“My good master trader, I don’t
care an electron whether your
grandfather was King of Smyrno
or the greatest pauper on the
planet. I recited that rigmarole
about your birth and ancestry to
show you that I’m not interested in
them. Evidently, you missed the
point. Let’s go back now. You’re
a Smyrnian. You know the Out-
landers. Also, you’re a trader and
one of the best. You’ve been to
Korell and you know the Korel-
lians. That’s where you've got to
Mallow breathed deeply, “As a
spy?”
“Not at all. As a trader — but
with your eyes open. If you can
find out where the power is com-
ing from — I might remind you,
since you’re a Smyrnian, that two
of those lost trade ships had
Smyrnian crews.”
"When do I start?”
“When will your ship be ready?”
“In six days.”
“Then that's when you start.
You’ll have all the details at the
Admiralty.”
“Right !” The trader rose, shook
hands roughly, and strode out.
Sutt waited, spreading his fin-
gers gingerly and rubbing out the
pressure; then shrugged his shoul-
der and stepped into the mayor's
office.
The mayor deadened the visi-
plate, and leaned back. "What do
you make of it, Sutt?”
“He could be a good actor,” said
Sutt, and stared thoughtfully
ahead.
It was evening of the same day,
and in Jorane Sutt’s bachelor apart-
ment on the twenty-first floor of
the Hardin Building, Publis Man-
lio sipped wine slowly.
It was Publis Manlio in whose
slight aging body were fulfilled two
great offices of the Foundation. He
was Foreign Secretary in the may-
or’s cabinet, and to all the outer
suns, barring only the Foundation
TIIE BIG AND THE LITTLE
itself, he was Primate of the
Church, Purveyor of the Holy
Food, Master of the Temples, and
so forth almost indefinitely in con-
fusing but sonorous syllables.
He was saying,- “But he agreed
to let you send out that trader. It
is a point."
“But such a small one,” said
Sutt. “It gets us nothing immedi-
ately. The whole business is the
crudest sort of stratagem, since we
have no way of foreseeing it to the
end. It is a mere paying out of
rope on the chance that somewhere
along the length of it is a noose."
“True. And this Mallow is a
capable man. What if he is not an
easy prey to dupery?"
“A chance that must be run. If
there is treachery, it is the capable
men that are implicated. If not,
we need a capable man to detect the
truth. And Mallow will be
guarded. Your glass is empty.”
“No, thanks, I've had enough."
Sutt filled his own glass and pa-
tiently endured the other’s uneasy
reverie.
Of whatever the reverie con-
sisted, it ended indecisively, for the
primate said suddenly, almost ex-
plosively, “Sutt, what's on your
mind ?"
“I’ll tel! you, Manlio." His thin
lips parted, “We’re in the middle
of a Seldon crisis."
Manlio stared, then said softly,
“IIow do you. know? Has Seldon
appeared in the Time Vault again?"
“That much, my friend, is not
necessary. Look, reason it out.
Since the Galactic Empire aban-
doned the Periphery, and threw us
10
on our own, we never had an op-
ponent who possessed atomic power.
And now, for the first time, we
have one. That seems significant
even if it stood by itself. And it
doesn’t. For the first time in over
seventy years, we are facing a major
domestic political crisis. I should
think the synchronization of the
two crises, inner and outer, puts it
beyond all doubt.”
Manlio's eyes narrowed, “If
that’s all, it’s not enough. There
have been two Seldon crises so far,
and both times the Foundation was
in danger of extermination. Noth-
ing can be a third crisis till that
danger returns.”
Sutt never showed impatience.
“That danger is coming. Any fool
can tell a crisis when it arrives.
The real service to the state is to de-
tect it in embryo. Look, Manlio,
we’re proceeding along a planned
history. When the Foundation was
first established, Hari Seldon w'orked
out the historical probabilities that
faced us. We knozu that some day
we’re to rebuild the Galactic Em-
pire. We knozo th.it it will take a
thousand years or thereabouts. We
knozv, by Seldon's own sono-rccords
left us in the Time Vaults, that
these years will be spotted with
definite crises.
“Now the first crisis came fifty
years after the establishment of the
Foundation, and the second, thirty
years later than that. Almost sev-
enty-five years have gone now. It’s
time, Manlio, it’s time."
Manlio rubbed his nose uncer-
tainly, “And you’ve made your
plans to meet this crisis?"
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Sutt nodded.
“And I,” continued Manlio, “am
to play a part in it?”
Sutt nodded again, “Before we
can meet the foreign threat of
atomic power, you’ve got to put our
own house in order. These trad-
ers — ”
“Ah!” the primate stiffened, and
his eyes grew sharp.
“That’s right. These traders.
They are useful, but they are too
strong — and too uncontrolled. They
are Outlanders, educated apart
from religion. On the one hand,
we put knowledge into their hands,
and on the other, we remove our
strongest hold upon them.”
“If wc can prove treachery — ”
“If we could, direct action would
be simple and sufficient. But that
doesn’t signify in the least. Even if
treason among them did not exist,
they would form an uncertain ele-
ment in our society. They wouldn’t
be bound to us by patriotism or
common descent, or even by relig-
ious awe. Under their secular lead-
ership, the outer provinces, which,
since Hardin’s time, look to us as
the Holy Planet, might break
away.”
“I see all that, but the cure — ”
“The cure must come quickly, be-
fore the Seldon Crisis becomes
acute. If atomic weapons are with-
out and disaffection within, the odds
might be too great.” Sutt put down
the empty glass he had been finger-
ing, “This is obviously your job.”
“Mine?”
“/ can’t do it. My office is ap-
pointive and has no legislative
standing.”
“The mayor — ”
“Impossible. His personality is
entirely negative. He is energetic
only in evading responsibility. But
if an independent party arose that
might endanger re-election, he
might allow himself to be led.”
“But Sutt, I lack the aptitude for
practical politics.”
“Leave that to me. Who knows,
Manlio? Since Salvor Hardin’s
time, the primacy and the mayoralty
have never been combined in a
single person. But it might happen
now — if your job were well done.”
And on the other end of town, in
homelier surroundings, Hober Mal-
low kept a second appointment. He
had listened long, and now he said
cautiously, “Yes, I’ve heard of your
campaigns to get direct trader rep-
resentation in the council. But why
me, Twer?”
Jaim Twer, who would remind
you any time, asked or unasked,
that he was in the first group of
Outlanders to receive a lay educa-
tion at the Foundation, beamed.
“I know what I’m doing,” he
said. “Remember when I met you
first last year.”
“At the Traders’ Convention.”
“Right. You ran that meeting.
You had those red-necked oxen
planted in their seats, then put them
in your shirt-pocket and walked off
with them. And you’re all right
with the Foundation masses, too.
You’ve got glamour — or, at any
rate, solid adventure-pubicity,
which is the same thing.”
“Very good,” said Mallow, dryly.
“But why now?”
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
11
“Because now’s our chance. Do
you know that the Secretary of
Education has handed in his resig-
nation? It’s not out in the open
yet, but it will be.”
“How do you know?”
“That . . . never mind — ” lie
waved a disgusted hand. “It’s so.
The Actionist party is splitting wide
open, and we can murder it right
now on a straight question of equal
rights for traders; or rather, de-
mocracy, pro- and anti-.”
Mallow lounged back in his chair
and stared at his thick fingers, “Uli-
uh. Sorry, Twer. I’m leaving
next week on business. You’ll have
to get someone else.”
Twer stared, “Business? What
kind of business.”
“Very super-secret. Triple- A
priority. All that, you know. Had
a talk with the mayor’s own secre-
tary.”
“Snake Sutt?” Jaim Twer grew
excited. “A trick. The son-of-a-
spacer is getting rid of you. Mal-
low — ”
“Hold on!” Mallow’s hand fell
on the other’s balled fist. “Don’t
go into a blaze. If it’s a trick, I’ll
be hack some day for the reckoning.
I f it isn’t, your snake, Sutt, is play-
ing into our hands. Listen, there’s
a Seldon crisis coming up.”
Mallow waited for a reaction but
it never came. Twer merely stared.
"What’s a Seldon crisis?”
“Galaxy !” Mallow exploded an-
grily at the anticlimax. “What the
blue blazes did you do when you
went to school ? What do you mean
anyway by a fool question like
that ?”
is
The elder man frowned, “If
you’ll explain — ”
There was a long pause, then,
“I’ll explain.” Mallow's eyebrows
lowered, and he spoke slowly.
“When the Galactic Empire began
to die at the edges, and when the
ends of the Galaxy reverted to bar-
barism and dropped away, Ilari
Seldon and his band of psycholo-
gists planted a colony, the Founda-
tion, out here in the middle of the
mess, so that we could incubate art,
science, and technology and form
the nucleus of the Second Empire.’’
“Oh, yes, yes — ”
“I’m not finished,” said the trad-
er, coldly. “The future course of
the Foundation was plotted accord-
ing to the science of psychohistory,
then highly developed, and condi-
tions arranged so as to bring about
a series of crises that will force us
most rapidly along the route to
future Empire. Each crisis, each
Seldon crisis, marks an epoch in our
history. We’re approaching one
now — our third.”
“Of course!” Twer shrugged,
“I should have remembered. But
I’ve been out of school a long time
— longer than you.”
“I suppose so. Forget it. What
matters is that I’m being sent out
into the middle of the development
of this crisis. There’s no telling
what I’ll have when I come back,
and there is a council election every
year.”
Twer looked up, “Are you on
the track of anything?”
“No.”
“You have definite plans?”
“Not the faintest inkling of one.”
ASTOUNDING SCIBNCB-FICTION*
“Well — ”
“Well, nothing. Hardin once
said : ‘To succeed, planning alone is
insufficient. One must improvise
as well.’ I'll improvise.’’
Twer shook his head uncertainly,
and they stood, looking at each
other.
Mallow said, quite suddenly, but
quite matter-of-factly, “I tell you
what, how about coming with me?
Don’t stare, man. You’ve been a
trader before you decided there was
more excitement in politics. Or
so I’ve heard.”
“Where are you going? Tell me
that.”
“Towards the Whassallian Rift.
I can’t be more specific till we’re out
in space. What do you say?”
“Suppose Sutt decides he wants
me where he can see me.”
“Not likely. If he’s anxious to
get rid of me, why not of you as
well ? Besides which, no trader
would hit space if he couldn’t pick
his own crew. I take whom I
please.”
There was a queer glint in the
older man’s eyes, “All right. I’ll
go.” He held out his hand, “It’ll
be my first trip in three years.”
Mallow grasped and shook the
other's hand, “Good ! All fired
good! And now I’ve got to round
up the boys. You know where the
Far Star docks, don’t you? Then
show up tomorrow. Good-by.”
II.
Korell is that frequent phenom-
enon in history: the republic whose
ruler has every attribute of the ab-
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
solute monarch but the name. It
therefore enjoyed the usual despot-
ism unrestrained even by those
two moderating influences in the
legitimate monarchies: regal “hon-
or,” and court etiquette.
Materially, its prosperity was
low. The day of the Galactic Em-
pire had departed with nothing but
silent memorials and broken struc-
tures to testify to it. The day of
the Foundation had not yet conic —
and in the fierce determination of
its ruler, the Commdor Asper Argo,
with his strict regulation of the
traders and his stricter prohibition
of the missionaries, it was never
coming.
The spaceport itself was decrepit
and decayed, and the crew of the
Far Star were drearily aware of
that. The moldering hangars made
for a moldering atmosphere, and
Jaim Twer itched and fretted over
a game of solitaire.
Holier Mallow said thoughtfully,
“Good trading material here.” He
was staring quietly out the view-
port. So far, there was little else
to be said about Korell. The trip
here was uneventful. The squad-
ron of Korellian ships that had shot
out to intercept the Far Star had
been tiny, limping relics of ancient
glory or battered, clumsy hulks.
They had maintained their distance
fearfully, and still maintained it,
and for a week now, their requests
for an audience with the local gov-
ernment had been unanswered.
Mallow repeated, “Good trading
here. You might call this virgin
territory.”
Jaim Twer looked up impatiently,
is
and threw his cards aside, “What
the devil do you intend doing, Mal-
low? The crew’s grumbling, the
ofiicers are worried, and I’m — won-
dering.”
‘‘Wondering? About what?”
“About the situation. And about
you. What are we doing?”
“Waiting.”
The old trader snorted and grew
red. He growled, “You’re going
it blind, Mallow. There’s a guard
around the field and there arc ships
overhead. Suppose they’re getting
ready to blow us into a hole in the
ground.”
“They’ve had a week.”
“Maybe they’re waiting for re-
inforcements.” Twer’s eyes were
sharp and hard.
Mallow sat down abruptly, “Yes,
I'd thought of that. You sec, it
poses a pretty problem. First, we
got here without trouble. That may
mean nothing, however, for only
three ships out of better than three
hundred went a-glimmer last year.
The percentage is low. But that
may mean also that the number of
their ships equipped with atomic
power is small, and that they dare
not expose them needlessly, until
that number grows.
“But it could mean, on the other
hand, that they haven't atomic
power after all. Or maybe they
have and are keeping undercover,
for fear we know something. It’s
otic thing, after all, to piratize blun-
dering, light-armed merchant ships.
It’s another to fool around with
an accredited ambassador of the
Foundation when the mere fact
of his presence may mean the
Foundation is growing suspicious.
Combine this — ”
“Hold on, Mallow, hold on.”
Twer raised his hands. - “You’re
just about drowning me with talk.
What’rc you getting at? Never
mind the in-betweens.”
“You’ve got to have the in-be-
14
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
tweens, or you won’t understand,
Twer. We’re both waiting. They
don’t know what I’m doing here,
and I don’t know what they’ve got
here. But I'm in the weaker posi-
tion because I’m one and they’re
an entire world — maybe with atomic
power. I can’t afford to be the one
to weaken. Sure it’s dangerous.
Sure there may be a hole in the
ground waiting for us. But we
knew that from the start. What
else is there to do?”
“I don’t — Who’s that, now?”
Mallow looked up patiently, and
tuned the receiver. The visiplate
glowed into the craggy face of the
watch sergeant.
“Speak, sergeant.”
The sergeant said, “Pardon, sir,
the men have given entry to a Foun-
dation missionary.”
“A what!” Mallow’s face grew
livid.
“A missionary, sir. He's in need
of hospitalization, sir — ”
“There’ll be more than one in
need of that, sergeant, for this piece
of work. Order the men to battle
stations.”
Crew’s lounge was almost empty.
Five minutes after the order, even
the men on the off-shift were at
their guns. It was speed that was
the great virtue in the anarchic re-
gions of the interstellar space of
the Periphery, and it was in speed
above all that the crew of a master
trader excelled.
Mallow entered slowly, and
stared the missionary up and down
and around. His eye slid to Lieu-
tenant Tinter, who shifted uneasily
on one side, and to Watch sergeant
Demen, whose blank face and stolid
figure flanked the other.
The master trader turned to
Twer and paused thoughtfully,
“Well, then. Twer, get the officers
here quietly, except for the co-or-
dinators and the trajectorian. The
men are to remain at stations till
further orders.”
There was a five-minute hiatus,
in which Mallow kicked open the
doors to the lavatories, looked be-
hind the bar, pulled the draperies
across the thick windows. For half
a minute he left the room alto-
gether, and when he returned he
was humming abstractedly.
Men filed in. Twer followed, and
closed the door silently.
Mallow said quietly, “First, who
let this man in without orders from
me?’i
The watch sergeant stepped for-
ward. Every eye shifted. “Par-
don, sir, it was no definite person.
It was a sort of mutual agreement.
He was one of us, you might say,
and these foreigners here — ”
Mallow cut him short, “I sym-
pathize with your feelings, sergeant, 1
and understand them. These men,
were they under your command?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When this is over, they’re to be
confined to individual quarters for
a week. You yourself are relieved
of all supervisory duties for a simi-
lar period. Understood?”
The sergeant’s face never
changed, but there was the slightest
droop to his shoulders. He said,
crisply, “Yes, sir.”
THE BIO AND THE LITTLE
15
“You may leave. Get to your
gun-station.”
The door closed behind him, and
the babble rose.
Twer brok$ in, “Why the pun-
ishment, Mallow ? You know what
these Korellians do to captured
missionaries.”
“An action against my orders is
bad in itself whatever other rea-
sons there may be in its favor. No
one was to leave or enter the ship
without permission.”
Lieutenant Tinter murmured rc-
belliously, “Seven days without ac-
tion. You can’t maintain disci-
pline that way.”
Mallow said icily, “I can.
There’s no merit in discipline un-
der ideal circumstaTnes. I’ll have
it in the face of death, or it’s use-
less. Where’s this missionary?
Get him here in front of me.”
The trader sat down, white the
scarlet-cloaked figure was urged
forward.
“What’s your name, reverend?”
“Eh?” The scarlet-robed figure
wheeled towards Mallow, the whole
body turning as a unit. His eyes
were blankly open and there was
a bruise on one temple. He had
not spoken, nor, as far as Mallow
could tell, moved during all the
previous interval.
“Your name, revered one?”
The missionary started to sud-
den feverish life. His arms went
out in an embracing gesture. “My
sou — my children. May you al-
ways be in the protecting arms of
the Galactic Spirit.”
Twer stepped forward, eyes
troubled, voice husky. “He’s sick.
Hi
Take him to bed, for Seldon’s sake.
He’s badly hurt.”
Mallow’s great arm shoved him
back, “Don’t interfere, Twer, or
I’ll have you out of the room. Your
name, revered one?”
The missionary’s hands clasped
in sudden supplication, “As you are
enlightened men, save me from the
heathen.” The words tumbled out,
“Save me from these brutes and
darkened ones who raven after me
and would afflict the Galactic Spirit
with their crimes. I am Jord
Tarma, of the Anacreonian worlds.
Educated at the Foundation; the
Foundation itself, my children. I
am a Priest of the Spirit educated
into all the mysteries, who have
come here where the inner voice
called me.” He was gasping, “I
have suffered at the hands of the
unenlightened. As you are Chil-
dren of the Spirit; and in the name-
of that Spirit, protect me from
them.”
A voice broke in upon them, as
the emergency alarm box clamored
metallicly :
“Enemy units in sight ! Instruc-
tion desired!”
Every eye shot mechanically up-
wards to the speaker.
Mallow swore violently. He
clicked open the reverse and yelled,
“Maintain vigil! That is all!” and
turned it off.
He made his way to the thick
drapes, that rustled aside at a
touch, .and stared grimly out.
Enemy units! Several thousands
of them in the persons of the indi-
vidual members of a Korellian mob.
The rolling rabble encompassed the
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
port from extreme end to extreme
end, and in the cold, hard light of
magnesium flares the foremost
straggled closer.
“Tinter !” the trader never
turned, but the back of his neck
was red. “Get the outer speaker
working and find out what they
want. Ask if they have a representa-
tive of the law with them. Make
no promises and no threats, or I’ll
kill you.”
Tinter turned and left
Mallow felt a rough hand on his
shoulder and he struck it aside. It
was Twer. His voice was an angry
hiss in his ear, “By Seldon, Mal-
low, you’re bound to hold on to
this man. There’s no way of main-
taining decency and honor other-
wise. He’s of the Foundation, and,
after all, he — is a priest. These
savages outside — Do you hear
me ?”
“I hear you, Twer.” Mallow’s
voice was incisive. “I’ve got more
to do here than guard missionaries.
I’ll do, sir, what I please, and, by
Seldon and all the Galaxy, if you
try to stop ine, I’ll tear out your
stinking windpipe. Don’t get in
my way, Twer, or it will lie the
last of you.”
He turned and strode past. “You !
Revered Parma! Did you know
that, by convention, no Foundation
missionaries may enter the Korel-
lian territory.”
The missionary was trembling,
“I can but go where the Spirit
leads, my son. If the darkened
ones refuse enlightenment, is it not
the greater sign of their need for
it?”
“That’s outside the question,
revered one? You are here against
the law of both Korell and the
Foundation. I cannot in law pro-
tect you.”
The missionary’s hands were
raised again. His earlier bewilder-
ment was gone. There was the
raucous clamor of the ship’s outer
communication system in action,
and the faint, undulating gabble of
the angry horde in response. The
sound made his eyes wild.
“You hear them? Why do you
talk of law to me, of a law made
by men? There are higher laws.
Was it not the Galactic Spirit that
said: Thou slialt not stand idly by
to the hurt of thy fellowman. And
has he not said: Even as thou deal-
est with the bumble and defense-
less, thus shalt thou be dealt with.
“Have you not guns? Have you
not a ship? And behind you is
there not the Foundation? And
above atid all about you is there
not the Spirit that rules the uni-
verse?” He paused for breath.
And then the great outer voice of
the Far Star ceased and Lieuten-
ant Tinter was back, troubled.
“Speak 1” said Mallow, shortly.
“Sir, they demand the person of
Jord Parma.”
“If not?”
“There are various threats, sir.
It is difficult to make much out.
There are so many — and they seem
quite mad. There is someone who
says he governs the district and has
police powers, but he is quite evi-
dently not his own master.”
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
17
“Master or not,” shrugged Mal-
low, “he is the law. Tell them that
if this governor, or policeman, or
whatever he is, approaches the ship
alone, he can have Revered Jord
Parma.”
And there was suddenly a gun
in his hand. He added, “I don’t
know what insubordination is. I
have never had any experience with
it. But if there’s anyone here who
thinks he can teach me, I'd like to
teach him my antidote in return.”
The gun swiveled slowly, and
rested on Twer. With an effort
the old trader’s face untwisted and
his hands unclenched and lowered.
His breath was a harsh rasp in his
nostrils.
Timer left, and in five minutes a
puny figure detached itself from
the crowd. It approached slowly
and hesitantly, plainly drenched in
fear and apprehension. Twice he
turned back, and twice the patently
obvious threats of the many-headed
monster urged him on.
“All right,” Mallow gestured
with the hand-blaster, which re-
mained unsheathed. “Grun and
Upshur, take him out.”
The missionary screeched. He
raised his arms and rigid fingers
speared upwards as the voluminous
sleeves fell away to reveal the thin,
veined arms. There was a momen-
tary, tiny flash of light that came
and went in a breath. Mallow
blinked and gestured again, con-
temptuously.
The missionary’s voice poured
out as he struggled in the two-fold
grasp, “Cursed be the traitor who
abandons his fellowman to evil and
is
to death. Deafened be the ears
that are deaf to the pleadings of
the helpless. Blind be the eyes that
are blind to innocence. Blackened
forever be the soul that consorts
with blackness — ”
Twer clamped his hands tightly
over his ear^
Mallow flipped his blaster and
put it away. “Disperse,” he said,
evenly, “to respective stations.
Maintain full vigil for six hours
after dispersion of crowd. Double
stations for forty-eight hours there-
after. Further instructions at that
time. Twer, come with me.”
They were alone in Mallow’s pri-
vate quarters. Mallow indicated a
chair and Twer sat down. His
stocky figure looked shrunken.
Mallow stared him down, sar-
donically. “Twer,” he said, “I’m
disappointed. Your three years in
politics seems to have gotten you
out of trader habits. Remember, I
may be a democrat back at the
Foundation, but there's nothing
short of tyranny that can run my
ship the way I want it run. I
never had to pull a blaster on my
men before, and I wouldn’t have
had to, if you hadn't gone out of
line.
“Twer, you have no official posi-
tion, but you’re here on my invita-
tion, and I’ll extend you every cour-
tesy — in private. However, from
now on, in the presence of my of-
ficers or men, I’m ‘sir,’ and not
‘Mallow.’ And when I give an or-
der, you’ll jump faster than a third-
class recruit just for luck, or I'll
have you ironed in the sub-level
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
even faster. Understand?"
The party-leader swallowed
dryly. He said, reluctantly, “My
apologies."
“Accepted! Will you shake?"
Twer’s limp fingers were swal-
lowed in Mallow's huge palm.
Twer said, “My motives were good.
It’s difficult to send a man out to
be lynched. That wobbly-kneed
governor or whatever-he-was can’t
save him. It’s murder."
“I can’t help that. Frankly, the
incident smelled too bad. Didn’t
you notice?"
“Notice what."
“This spaceport is deep in the
middle of a sleepy farm section.
Suddenly a missionary escapes.
Where from? He comes here. Co-
incidence? A huge crowd gathers.
From where? The nearest city of
any size must be at least a hun-
dred miles away. But they arrive
in half an hour. How?"
“How?" echoed Twer.
“Well, what if the missionary
were brought here and released as
bait. Our friend, revered Parma,
was considerably confused. He
seemed at no time to be in complete
possession of his wits."
“Hard usage — ” murmured Twer
bitterly.
“Maybe! And maybe the idea
was to have us go all chivalrous
and gallant, into a stupid defense of
the man. He was here against the
laws of Korell and the Foundation.
If I withhold him, it is an act of
war against Korell and the Foun-
dation has no legal right to defend
us.”
THE BIG AND THE LITTL8
“That . , . that’s pretty far-
fetched."
The speaker blared and fore-
stalled Mallow’s answer: “Sir, of-
ficial communication received."
“Submit immediately !"
The gleaming cylinder arrived in
its slot with a click. Mallow opened
it and shook out the silver-impreg-
nated sheet it held. He rubbed
it appreciatively between thumb and
finger and said, “Teleported direct
from the capital. Commdor’s own
stationery."
Fie read it in a glance and laughed
shortly, “So my idea was far-
fetched, was it?"
He tossed it to Twer, and added,
“Half an hour after we hand back
the missionary, we finally get a very
polite invitation to the Commdor's
august presence — after seven days
of previous waiting. / think we
passed a test.”
III.
Commdor Asper was a man of
the people, by self-acclamation. His
remaining back-fringe of gray hair
drooped limply to his shoulders, his
shirt needed laundering, and he
spoke with a snuffle.
“There is no ostentation here,
Trader Mallow," he said. “No
false show. In me, you see merely
the first citizen of the state. That’s
what Commdor means, and that’s
the only title I have."
Fie seemed inordinately pleased
with it all, “In fact, I consider that
fact one of the strongest bonds be-
tween Korell and your nation. I
18
understand you people enjoy the
republican blessings we do.”
“Exactly, Commdor,” said Mal-
low gravely, taking mental excep-
tion to the comparison, “an argu-
ment which I consider strongly in
favor of continued peace and
friendship between our govern-
ments.”
“Peace! Ah!” the Commdor’s
sparse gray beard twitched to the
sentimental grimaces of his face. “I
don't think there is anyone in the
Periphery who has so next to his
heart the ideal of Peace, as I have.
I can truthfully say that since I
succeeded my illustrious father to
the leadership of the state, the reign
of Peace has never been broken.
Perhaps I shouldn’t say it” — he
coughed gently— “but I have been
told that my people, my fellow-
citizens rather, know me as Asper,
the Well-Beloved.”
Mallow’s eyes wandered over the
well-kept garden. Perhaps the tall
men and the strangely-designed but
openly-vicious weapons they carried
just happened to be lurking in odd
corners as a precaution against him-
self. That would be understand-
able. But the lofty, steel-girdered
walls that circled the place had quite
obviously been recently strength-
ened — an unfitting occupation for
such a Well-Beloved Asper.
He said, “It is fortunate that I
have you to deal with then, Comm-
dor. The despots and monarchs
of surrounding worlds, which
haven't the benefit of enlightened
administration, often lack the quali-
ties which would make a ruler well-
beloved.”
2 *
“Such as?” There was a cau-
tious note in the Commdor’s voice.
“Such as their concern for the
best interests of their people. You,
on the other hand, would under-
stand.”
The Commdor kept his eyes on
the gravel path as they walked lei-
surely. His hands caressed each
other behind his back.
Mallow went on smoothly, “Up
to now, trade between our two na-
tions has suffered because of the re-
strictions placed upon our traders
by your government. Surely, it has
long been evident to you that un-
limited trade — ”
“Free Trade!” mumbled the
Commdor.
“Free Trade, then. You must
see that it would be of benefit to
both of us. There arc things you
have that we want, and things we
have that you want. It asks only
an exchange to bring increased
prosperity. An enlightened ruler
such as yourself, a friend of the
people — I might say, a member of
the people — needs no elaboration on
that theme. I won’t insult your in-
telligence by offering any.”
“True! I have seen this. But
what would you?” His voice was
a plaintive whine. “Your people
have always been so unreasonable.
I am in favor of all the trade our
economy can support, but not on
your terms. I am not sole master
here.” His voice rose, “I am only
the servant of public opinion. My
people will not take commerce
which carries with it a compulsory
religion — ”
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION
Mallow drew himself up, “A com-
pulsory religion?”
“So it has always been in effect.
What your people ask is complete
freedom of missionary effort; the
establishment of religious schools;
autonomous rights for all officers
of the religion. Oh, no! Oh, no!
The dignity of an independent peo-
ple could never suffer it.”
“Such has never been my sugges-
tion.” interposed Mallow.
“No?”
“No. I’m a master trader.
Money is my religion. All this
mysticism and hocus-pocus of the
missionaries annoys me, and I'm
glad you refuse to countenance it.
It makes you more my type of
man.”
The Commdor’s laugh was high-
pitched and jerky, "Well said! The
Foundation should have sent a man
of your caliber before this.”
He laid a friendly hand upon the
trader’s bulking shoulder, “But
man, you have told me only half.
You have told me what the catch
is not. Now tell me what it is.”
“The only catch, Commdor, is
that you’re going to be burdened
with an immense quantity of
riches.”
“Indeed?” he snuffled. “But
what could I want with riches?
The true wealth is the love of one’s
people. I have that.”
“You can have both, for it is pos-
sible to gather gold with one hand
and love with the other.”
“Now that, my young man,
would he an interesting phenome-
non, if it were possible. How
would you go about it?”
THE BIO AND THE LITTLE
“Oh, in a number of ways. The
difficulty is choosing among them.
Let’s see. Well, luxury items, for
instance. This object here, now — ”i
Mallow drew gently out of an
inner pocket a flat, linked chain of
polished metal. “This, for in-j
stance.”
“What is it?”
“That’s got to be demonstrated.
Can you get a girl? Any young
female will do. And a mirror, full
length.”
“Hm-m-m. Let’s get indoors,
then.”
The Commdor referred to his
dwelling place as a house. The
populace undoubtedly would call it
a palace. To Mallow’s straightfor-
ward eyes, it looked uncommonly
like a fortress. It was built on an
eminence that overlooked the capi-
tal. Its walls were thick and rein-
forced. Its approaches were
guarded, and its architecture was
shaped for defense. Just the type
of dwelling, Mallow thought sourly,
for Asper, the Well-Beloved.
A young girl was before them.
She bent low to the Commdor, who
said, “This is one of the Comm-
dora’s girls. Will she do?”
“Perfectly l”
The Commdor watched carefully
while Mallow snapped the chain
about the girl’s waist, and stepped
back.
The Commdor snuffled, “Well.
Is that all?”
“Will you draw the curtain,
Commdor. Young lady, there’s a
little knob just near the snap. Will
you move it upward, please? Go
21
ahead, it won't hurt you.”
The girl did so, drew a sharp
breath, looked at her hands, and
gasped “Oh 1”
From her waist as a source she
was drowned in a pale, streaming
luminescence of shifting color that
drew itself over her head in a flash-
ing coronet of liquid fire. It was
as if someone had torn the aurora
borealis out of the sky and molded
it into a cloak.
The girl stepped to the mirror
and stared, fascinated.
“Here, take this.” Mallow
handed her a necklace of dull peb-
bles. “Put it around your neck.”
The girl did so, and each pebble,
as it entered the luminescent field
became an individual flame that
leaped and sparked in crimson and
gold.
“What do you think of it?” Mal-
low asked her. The girl didn’t an-
swer but there was adoration in
her eyes. The Commdor gestured
and reluctantly, she pushed the
knob down, and the glory died. She
left — with a memory.
“It’s yours, Commdor,” said
Mallow, “for the Commdora. Con-
sider it a small gift from the Foun-
dation.”
“Hm-m-m,” the Commdor turned
the belt and necklace over in his
hand as though calculating the'
weight. “How is it done?”
Mallow shrugged, “That’s a ques-
tion for our technical experts.”
“Well, it’s only feminine frip-
pery after all. What could you
do with it? Where would the
money come in?”
“You have balls j receptions, ban-
32
quets — that sort of thing?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you realize what women will
pay for that sort of jewelry. Ten
thousand credits, at least.”
The Commdor seemed struck in
a heap, “Ah 1”
“And since the power unit of this
particular item will not last longer
than six months, there will be the
necessity of frequent replacements.
Now we can sell as many of these
as you want for the equivalent in
iron ore of one thousand credits.
There’s nine hundred percent profit
for you.”
The Commdor plucked at his
beard and seemed engaged in awe-
some mental calculations, “Galaxy,
how the dowagers will fight for
them. I’ll let them bid.”
“Or,” said Mallow, “working
further at random, take our com-
plete line of household gadgets. We
have collapsible stoves that will
roast the toughest meats to the de-
sired tenderness in two minutes.
We’ve got knives that won’t require
sharpening. We’ve got the equiva-
lent of a complete laundry that can
be packed in a small closet and will
work entirely automatically. Ditto
dish-washers. Ditto-ditto floor-
scrubbers, furniture polishers, light-
ing fixtures ... oh, anything you
like. Think of your increased
popularity, if you make them avail-
able to the public. Think of your
increased quantity of . . . uh . . .
worldly goods, if they’re available
as a government monopoly at nine
hundred percent profit, ft will be
worth many times the money to
them, and they needn’t know what
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
you pay for it. Everybody’s
happy.”
“Except you, it seems. What do
you get out of it?”
“Just what every trader gets by
Foundation law. My men and I
will collect half of whatever profits
we take in. Just you buy all I
want to sell you, and we’ll both
make out quite well. Quite well.”
The Commdor was enjoying his
thoughts, “What did you say you
wanted to be paid in — iron ore?”
“That, and coal, and bauxite.
Also tobacco, pepper, jnagnesium,
hardwood. Nothing you haven’t got
enough of.”
“It sounds well.”
“I think so. Oh, and still an-
other item at random, Commdor.
I could retool your factories.”
“Eli? How’s that?”
“Well, take your steel foundries.
I have handy little gadgets that
could do tricks with steel that would
cut production costs to one percent
of previous marks. You could cut
prices by half, and still split ex-
tremely fat profits with the manu-
facturers. I tell you, I could show
you exactly what I mean, if you al-
lowed me a demonstration. Do you
have a steel foundry in this city?
It wouldn’t take long.”
“It could be arranged, Trader
Mallow. But tomorrow, tomorrow.
Would you dine with us, tonight?”
“My men — ” began Mallow.
“Let them all come,” said the
Commdor, expansively. “A sym-
bolic friendly union of our nations.
It will give us a chance for further
friendly discussion. But one thing,”
his face lengthened and grew stern.
“none of your religion. Not- one
word of religion.”
“Commdor,” said Mallow, dryly,
“I give you my word that religion!
would ait my profits.”
* “Then that will do for now.
You’ll be escorted back to your
ship.”
The Commdora was much
younger than her husband. Her
face was pale and coldly formed
and her black hair was drawn
smoothly and tightly back.
THE BIO AND THE LITTLE
28
Her voice was tart. “You are
quite finished, my gracious and no-
ble husband? Quite, quite finished?
I suppose I may even enter the
garden if I wish, now.”
“There is no need for dramatics,
Licia, my dear,” said the Comm-
dor, mildly. “The young man will
attend at dinner tonight, and you
can speak with him all you wish,
and even amuse yourself by listen-
ing to all I say. Room will have
to be arranged for his men some-
wheres about the place . . . the stars
grant they be few in numbers.”
“Most likely they’ll be great hogs
of eaters who will eat meat by the
quarter-animal and wine by the
hogshead. And you will groan for
two nights when you calculate the
expense.”
“Well now, perhaps I won’t. De-
spite your opinion, the dinner is to
be on the most lavish scale.”
“Oh, I sec.” She stared at him
contemptuously. “You are very
friendly with these barbarians.
Perhaps that is why I was not to
be permitted to attend your con-
versation. Perhaps your little
weazened soul is plotting to turn
against my father.”
“Not at all.”
“Yes, I’d be likely to, believe you,
wouldn't I ? If ever a poor woman
was sacrificed for policy to an un-
savory marriage, it was myself. I
could have picked a more proper
man from the alleys and mudheaps
of my native world.”
“YVell, now, I’ll tell you what,
my lady. Perhaps you would enjoy
returning to your native world.
Only to retain as a souvenir that
34
portion of you with which I am
best acquainted, I could have your
tongue cut out first. And,” he
lolled his head, calculatingly, to one
side, “as a final improving touch to
your beauty, your ears and the tip
of your nose as well.”
“You wouldn't dare, you little
pug-dog. My father would pul-
verize your toy nation to meteoric
dust. In fact, he might do it in
any case, if I told him you were
treating with these barbarians.”
“Hm-m-m. Well, there’s no
need for threats. You are free to
question the man yourself tonight.
Meanwhile, madam, keep your wag-
ging tongue still.”
“At your orders?”
“Here, take this, then, and keep
still.”
The band was about her waist
and the necklace around her neck.
He pushed the knob himself and
stepped back.
The Commdora drew in her
breath and held out her hands
stiffly. She fingered the necklace
gingerly, and gasped again.
The Commdor rubbed his hands
with satisfaction and said, “You
may wear it tonight — and I’ll get
you more. Now keep still.”
The Commdora kept still.
Jaim Twer fidgeted and shuf-
fled his feet. He said, “What’s
twisting your face?”
Hober Mallow lifted out of his
brooding, “Is my face twisted? It’s
not meant so.”
“Something must have happened
yesterday ... I mean, besides that
feast.” With sudden conviction,
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“Mallow, there's trouble, isn’t
there ?”
“Trouble? No. Quite opposite.
In fact, I’m in the position of
throwing my full weight against a
door and finding it ajar at the time.
We’re getting into this steel foun-
dry too easily."
“You suspect a trap?"
“Oh, for Seldon’s sake, don’t be
melodramatic." Mallow swallowed
his impatience and added conversa-
tionally, “It’s just that the easy en-
trance means there will be nothing
to see."
“Atomic power, huh?” Twer
ruminated. “I'll tell you. There’s
just about no evidence of any
atomic power economy here in
Korell. And it would be pretty
hard to mask all signs of the wide-
spread effects a fundamental tech-
nology such as atomics would have
on everything."
“Not if it was just starting up,
Twer, and being applied to a war
economy. You’d find it in the ship-
yards and the steel foundries only."
“So if we don’t find it, then — ”
“Then they haven’t got it — or
they’re not showing it. Toss a
coin or take a guess.”
Twer shook his head, “I wish
I'd been with you yesterday."
“I wish you had too,” said Mal-
low, stonily. “I have no objection
to moral support. Unfortunately,
it was the Commdor who set the
terms of the meeting, and not my-
self. And that outside there is the
royal ground-car to escort us to the
foundry. Have you got the
gadgets?"
“All of them."
The foundry was large, and bore
the odor of decay which no amount
of superficial repairs could quite
erase. It was empty now and in
quite an unnatural state of quiet, as
it played unaccustomed host to the
Commdor and his court.
Mallow had swung the steel sheet!
onto the two supports with a care-!
less heave. He had taken the in-
strument held out to him by Twer
and was gripping the leather han-
dle inside its leaden sheath.
“The instrument," he said, “is
,!
dangerous, but so is a buzz saw..
You just have to keep your fingers
away — ”
And as he spoke, he drew the
muzzle-slit swiftly down the length
of the steel sheet, which quietly
and instantly fell in two.
There was a unanimous jump,
and Mallow laughed. He picked
up one of the halves and propped
it against his knee, “You can ad-|
just the cutting-length accurately
to a hundredth of an inch, and a
two-inch sheet will slit down the
middle as easily as this thing did.
If you’ve got the thickness exactly,
you can place steel on a wooden
table, and split the metal without
scratching the wood."
And at each phrase, the atomic
shear moved and a gouged chunk of
steel flew across the room.
“That,” he said, “is whittling —
with steel.”
He passed back the shear. “Or
else you have the plane. Do you
want to decrease the thickness of
a sheet, smooth out an irregularity,
remove corrosion? Watch!"
T ns BIO AND THE LITTLE
Thin, transparent foil flew off the
other half of the original sheet in
six-inch swaths, then eight-inch,
then twelve.
"Or drills? It's all the same
principle."
They were crowded around now.
It might have been a sleight-of-hand
show, a corner magician, a vaude-
ville act made into high-pressure
salesmanship, Commdor Asper fin-
gered scraps of steel. High offi-
cials of the government tiptoed over
each other’s shoulders, and whis-
pered, while Mallow punched clean,
beautiful round holes through an
inch of hard steel at every touch of
his atomic drill.
i "Just one more demonstration.
1 Bring two short lengths of pipe,
somebody."
An Honorable Chamberlain of
something-or-other sprang to obedi-
ence in the general excitement and
thought-absorption, and stained his
hands like any laborer.
Mallow stood them upright and
shaved the ends off with a single
stroke of the shear, and then joined
the pipes, fresh cut to fresh cut.
And there was a single pipe 1
The new ends, with even atomic ir-
regularities missing, formed one
piece upon joining. Johannison
blocks, at a stroke.
Then Mallow looked up at his
audience, stumbled at his first word
and stopped. There was the keen
stirring of excitement in his chest,
and the base of his stomach went
tingly and cold.
The Commdor’s own bodyguard,
in the confusion, had struggled to
the front line, and Mallow, for the
te
first time, was near enough to see
their unfamiliar hand-weapons in
detail.
They were atomic! There was
no mistaking it; an explosive pro-
jectile weapon with a barrel like
that was impossible. But that
wasn’t the big point. That wasn't
the point at all.
The butts of those weapons had,
deeply etched upon them, in worn
gold plating, the Spaccship-and-
Sunl
The same Spaceship-and-Sun
that was stamped on every one of
the great volumes of the original
Encyclopedia that the Foundation
had begun and not yet finished.
The same Spaceship-and-Sun that
had blazoned the banner of the
Galactic Empire through millen-
nia.
Mallow talked through and
around his thoughts, "Test that
pipe ! It’s one piece. Not perfect ;
naturally, the joining shouldn’t be
done by hand."
There was no need of further
legerdemain. It liad gone over.
Mallow was through. He had
what he wanted. There was only
one thing in his mind. The golden
globe with its conventionalized rays,
and the oblique cigar shape that
was a space vessel.
The Spaceship-and-Sun of the
Empire !
The Empire ! The words drilled !
A century and a half had passed
but there was still the Empire,
somewhere deeper in the Galaxy.
And it was emerging again, out
into the Periphery.
Mallow smiled!
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION
The Far Star was two days out
in space, when Hober Mallow, in
his private quarters with Senior
lieutenant Drawt, handed him an
envelope, a roll of microfilm, and a
silvery spheroid.
“As of an hour from now, lieu-
tenant, you're Acting Captain of
the Far Star , until I return — or for-
ever.”
Drawt made a motion of stand-
ing but Mallow waved him down
imperiously.
“Quiet, and listen. The envelope
contains the exact location of the
planet to which you’re to proceed.
There you will wait for me for two
months. If before the two months
are up, the Foundation locates you,
the microfilm is my report of the
trip.
“If, however,” and his voice was
somber, “I do not return at the end
of two months, and Foundation
vessels do not locate you, proceed
to the planet Terminus, and hand
in the Time Capsule as the report.
Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At no time are you, or any of
the men, to amplify in any single
instance, my official report.”
“I f we are questioned, sir ?”
“Then you know nothing.”
“Yes, sir.”
The interview ended, and fifty
minutes later, a lifeboat kicked
lightly off the side of the Far Star.
IV.
■ Onum Barr was an old man, too
old to be afraid. Since the last dis-
turbances, he liad lived alone on the
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
fringes of the land with what books
lie had saved from the ruins. He
had nothing he feared losing, least
of all the worn remnant of his life,
and so he faced the intruder with-
out cringing.
“Your door was open,” the stran-
ger explained.
His accent was clipped and harsh,
and Barr did not fail to notice the
strange blue-steel hand-weapon at
his hip. In the half-gloom of the
small room, Barr saw the glow of a
force-shield surrounding the man.
He said wearily, “There is no
reason to keep it closed. Do you
wish anything of me?”
“Yes.” The stranger remained
standing in the center of the room.
He was large, both in height and
bulk. “Yours is the only house
about here.”
“It is a desolate place,” agreed
Barr, “but there is a town to the
east. I can show you the way.”
“In a while. May I sit?”
“If the chairs will hold you,”
said the old man, gravely. They
were old, too. Relics of a better
youth.
The stranger said, “My name is
Hober Mallow. I come from a far
province.”
Barr nodded and smiled, “Your
tongue convicted you of that long
ago. I am Onum Barr of Siwcnna
— and once Patrician of the Em-
pire.”
“Then this is Siwenna. I had
only old maps to guide me.”
“They would have to be old, in-
deed, for star-positions to be mis-
placed.”
Barr sat quite still, while the
27
other’s eyes drifted away into a
reverie. He noticed that the atomic
force-shield had vanished from
about the man and admitted dryly
to himself that his person no longer
seemed formidable to strangers—
or even, for good or for evil, to his
enemies.
He said, “My house is poor and
my resources few. You may share
what I have if your stomach can
endure black bread and dried corn.”
Mallow shook his head, “No, I
have eaten, and I can’t stay. All I
need are the directions to the cen-
ter of government.”
“That is easily enough done, and
poor though I am, deprives me of
nothing. Do you mean the capital
of the planet, or of the Imperial
Sector ?"
The younger man’s eyes nar-
rowed, “Aren’t the two identical?
Isn’t this Siwenna?”
The old patrician nodded slowly,
“Siwenna, yes. But Siwenna is no
longer capital of the Normanic
Sector. Your old map has misled
you after all. The stars may not
change even in centuries, but politi-
cal boundaries are all too fluid.”
“That's too bad. In fact, that’s
very bad. Is the new capital far
off?”
“It's on Orsha II. Twenty par-
secs off. Your map will direct you.
IIow old is it?"
"A hundred-fifty years."
“That old?" He sighed. “His-
tory has been crowded since. Do
you know any of it?"
Mallow shook his head slowly.
Barr said, “You’re fortunate. It
has been an evil time for the prov-
inces, but for the reign of Stanell
VI. and he died fifty years ago.
Sin^e that time, rebellion and min,
rum and rebellion.” Barr wondered
if he were growing garrulous. It
was a lonely life out here, and he
had so little chance to talk to men.
Mallow said with sudden sharp-
ness, “Ruin, ch? You sound as if
the province were impoverished."
“Perhaps not on an absolute
scale. The physical resources of
twenty-five first-rank planets take
a long time to use up. Compared
to the wealth of the last century,
though, we have gone a long way
downhill — and there is no sign of
turning, not yet. Why are you so
interested in this, young man ? You
are all alive and your eyes shine 1"
The trader came near enough to
blushing, as the faded eyes seemed
to look too deep into his and smile
at what they saw.
He said, “Now look here. I’m a
trader out there — out towards the
rim of the Galaxy. I’ve located
some old maps, and I’m out to open
new markets. Naturally, talk of
impoverished provinces disturbs me.
You can’t get money out of a world
unless money’s there to be got.
Now how’s Siwenna, for instance?"
The old man leaned forward, “I
cannot say. It will do even yet,
perhaps. But you a trader? You
look more like a fighting man. You
hold your hand near your gun and
there is a scar on your jawbone."
Mallow jerked his head, “There
isn’t much law out there where I
come from. Fighting and scars are
part of a trader’s overhead. But
ASTOUNDING SCI ENCE FICTION
fighting is only useful when there's
money at the end, and if I can get
it without, so much the sweeter.
Now will I find enough money here
to make it worth the fighting? I
take it I can find the fighting easily
enough."
“Easily enough," agreed Barr.
“You could join Wiscard’s rem-
nants in the Red Stars. I don’t
know, though, if you’d call that
fighting or piracy. Or you could
join our present gracious viceroy —
gracious by right of murder, pil-
lage, rapine, and the word of a boy
Emperor, since rightfully assassin-
ated." The patrician’s thin cheeks
reddened. His eyes closed and then
opened, bird-bright.
“You don’t sound very friendly
to the viceroy, Patrician Harr,’’ said
Mallow. “What if I'm one of his
spies?"
“What if you are?" said Barr,
bitterly. “What can you take?"
He gestured a withered arm at the
bare interior of the decaying man-
sion.
“Your life."
“It would leave me easily enough.
It has been with me five years too
long. But you are not one of the
viceroy’s men. If you were, per-
haps even now instinctive sclf-
preservation would keep my mouth
closed.”
“How do you know?"
The old man laughed, “You seem
suspicious. Come, I’ll wager you
think I’m trying to trap you into
denouncing the government. No,
no. I am past politics."
“Past politics ? Is a man ever past
that? The words you used to de-
THF, BIO AND THE LITTLE)
scribe the viceroy — what were they ?
Murder, pillage, all that. You
didn’t sound objective. Not ex-
actly. Not as if you were past
politics."
The old man shrugged, “Mem-
ories sting when they come sud-
denly. Listen ! J udge for your-
self 1 When Siwenna was the pro-
vincial capital, I was a patrician and
a member of the provincial senate.
My family was an old and honored
one. One of my great-grand fathers
had been — No, never mind that.
Past glories are poor feeding."
“I take it," said Mallow, “there
came a civil war, or a revolution."
Barr’s face darkened, “Civil wars
are chronic in these degenerate
days, but Siwenna had kept apart.
Under Stannell VI, it had almost
achieved its ancient prosperity. But
weak emperors followed, and weak
emperors mean strong viceroys, and
our last viceroy — the same Wis-
card, whose remnants still prey on
commerce in the Red Stars — aimed
at the Imperial Purple, lie wasn't
the first to aim. And if he had
succeeded, he wouldn't have been
the first to succeed.
“But he failed. For when the
Emperor's Admiral approached the
province at the head of a fleet, Si-
wenna itself rebelled against its
rebel viceroy.” Pie stopped, sadly.
Mallow found himself tense on
the edge of his scat, and relaxed
slowly, “Please continue, sir."
“Thank you,” said Barr, wearily.
“It’s kind of you to humor an old
man. They rebelled; or I should
say, we rebelled, for I was one of
the minor leaders. Wiscard left
ao
Siwenna, barely ahead of us, and
the planet, and with it the province,
were thrown open to the admiral
with every gesture of loyalty to the
Emperor. Why we did this. I'm
not sure. Maybe we felt loyal to
the symbol, if not to the person, of
the Emperor — a cruel and vicious
child. Maybe we feared the hor-
rors of a siege.”
“Well?” urged Mallow, gently.
“Well,” came the grim retort,
“that didn’t suit the admiral. He
wanted the glory of conquering a
rebellious province, and his men
wanted the loot that conquest in-
volved. So while the people were
still gathered in every large city,
cheering the Emperor and his ad-
miral, he occupied all armed cen-
ters, and then ordered the popula-
tion put to the atom-blast.”
“On what pretext?”
“On the pretext that they had re-
belled against their viceroy, the Em-
peror’s anointed. And the admiral
became the new viceroy, by virtue
of one month of massacre, pillage,
and complete horror. I had six
sons. Five died — variously, I had
a daughter. I hope she died, even-
tually. I escaped because I was old.
I came here, too old to cause even
our viceroy worry.” He bent his
gray head, “They left me nothing,
because I had helped drive out a re-
bellious governor and deprived an
admiral of his glory.”
Mallow sat silent, and waited.
Then, “What of your sixth son?”
he asked softly.
“Eh?” Barr smiled acidly. “He
is safe, for he has joined the ad-
miral as a common soldier under
an assumed name. He is a gunner
in the viceroy’s personal fleet. Oh,
no, I see your eyes. He is not an
unnatural son. He visits me when
he can and gives me what he can.
He keeps me alive. And some day,
our great and glorious viceroy will
die and my son will be his execu-
tioner.”
“And you tell that to a stranger?
You endanger your son.”
“No. I help him, by introducing
a new enemy. And were I a friend
of the Exarch, as I am his enemy, I
would tell him to string outer space
with ships, clear to the rim of the
Galaxy.”
“There are no ships there ?”
“Did you find any? Did any
space-guards question your entry?
With ships few enough, and the
bordering provinces filled with their
share of intrigue and iniquity, none
can be spared to guard the bar-
barian outer suns. No danger ever
threatened us from the broken edge
of the Galaxy — until you came.”
"I? I’m no danger.”
“There will be more after you.”
Mallow shook his head slowly,
“I’m not sure I understand you.”
“Listen!” There was a feverish
edge to the old man’s voice. “I
knew you when you entered. You
have a force-shield about your body,
or had when I first saw you.”
Doubtful silence, then, “Yes — I
had.”
“Good. That was a flaw, but
you didn’t know that. There are
some things I know. It’s out of
fashion in these decaying times to
be a scholar. Events race and flash
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
past and who cannot fight the tide
with atom-blast in hand is swept
away, as I was. But I was a
scholar, and I know that in all the
history of atomics, no portable
force-shield was ever invented. We
have force-shields — huge, lumber-
ing powerhouses that will protect a
city, or even a ship, but not one,
single man.”
“Ah?” Mallow’s underlip thrust
out. “And what do you deduce
from that?”
“There have been stories perco-
lating through space. They travel
strange paths and become distorted
with every parsec — but when I was
young there was a small ship of
strange men, who did not know our
THfc BIG AND THE LITTLE
customs and could not tell where
they came from. They talked of
magicians at the edge of the Gal-
axy; magicians who glowed in the
darkness, who flew unaided through
the air, and whom weapons would
not touch.
“We laughed. I laughed, too. I
forgot it till today. But you glow
in the darkness, and I don’t think
my blaster, if I had one, would hurt
you. Tell me, can you fly through
air as you sit there now?”
Mallow said calmly, “I can make
nothing of all this.”
Barr smiled, "I’m content with
the answer. I do not examine my
guests. But if there are magicians ;
if you are one of them; there may
si
sonic day be a great influx of them,
or you. Perhaps that would be
well. Maybe we need new blood.”
He muttered soundlessly to him-
self, then, slowly, “But it works the
other way, too. Our new viceroy
also dreams, as did our old Wis-
card.”
“Also after the Emperor’s
crown ?”
Barr nodded, “My son hears
tales. In the viceroy’s personal en-
tourage, one could scarcely help it.
And he tells me of them. Our new
viceroy would not refuse the Crown
if offered, but he guards his line of
retreat. There are stories that,
failing Imperial heights, he plans to
assume a Kingship of his own and
carve out a new Empire in the bar-
barian hinterland. It is said, but I
don’t vouch for this, that he has al-
ready given one of his daughters as
wife to a Kinglet somewhere in the
uncharted Periphery.”
“If one listened to every story — ”
“I know'. There arc many more.
I’m old and I babble nonsense. But
what do you say?” And those
sharp, old eyes peered deep.
The trader considered, “I say
nothing. But I’d like to ask some-
thing. Docs Siwenna have atomic
power? Now, wait, I know that it
possesses the knowledge of atomics.
I mean, do they have power gen-
erators intact, or did the recent sack
destroy them?”
“Destroy them? Oh, no. Half
a planet would be wiped out before
the smallest power station would be
touched. They are irreplaceable
and the suppliers of the strength of
the fleet.” Almost proudly, “We
u
have the largest and best on this
side of Vega itself.”
“Then what would I do first if I
wanted to see these generators?”
“Nothing!” replied Barr, deci-
sively. “You couldn’t approach any
military center without being shot
down instantly. Neither could any-
one. Siwenna is still deprived of
civic rights.”
“You mean all the power stations
are under the military?”
"No. There are the small city
stations, the ones supplying power
for heating and lighting homes,
powering vehicles and so forth.
Those are almost as bad. They’re
controlled by the tech-men.”
“Who are they?”
“A specialized group who super-
vise power plants. The honor is
hereditary, the young ones being
brought up in the profession as ap-
prentices. Strict sense of duty,
honor, and all that. No one but a
tech-man could enter a station.”
“I see.”
“I don’t say, though,” added
Barr, “that there aren’t cases where
tech-men haven’t been bribed. In
days when we have nine emperors
in fifty years and seven of these
are assassinated — when every space-
captain aspires to the usurpation of
a viceroyship, and every viceroy to
the Imperium, I suppose even a
tech-man can fall prey to money.
But it would require a good deal,
and I have none. Have you?”
“Money? No. But does one al-
ways bribe with money?”
“What else, when money buys
all else.”
“There are quite enough objects
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
that money won’t buy. And now
if you’ll tell me the nearest city
with one of the stations, and how
best to get there, I’ll thank you.”
“Wait!” Barr held out his thin
hands. “Where do you rush ? You
come here, but / ask no questions.
In the city, where the inhabitants
are still called rebels, you would be
challenged by the first soldier or
guard who heard your accent and
saw your clothes.”
He rose and from an obscure
corner of an old chest brought out
a booklet. “My passport — forged.
I escaped with it.”
He placed it in Mallow’s hand
and folded the fingers over it. “The
description doesn’t fit, but if you
flourish it, the chances are many to
one they will not look closely.”
“But you. You’ll be left with-
out one.”
The old exile shrugged cynically,
“What of it? And a further cau-
tion. Curb your tongue 1 Your
accent is barbarous, your idioms
peculiar, and every once in a while
you deliver yourself of the most as-
tounding archaisms. The less you
speak, the less suspicion you will
draw upon yourself. Now I’ll tell
you how to get to the city — ”
Five minutes later, Mallow was
gone.
He returned but once, for a mo-
ment, to the old patrician’s house,
before leaving it entirely, however.
And when Onum Barr stepped into
his little garden early the next
morning, he found a box at his feet.
It contained provisions, concen-
trated provisions such as one would
TBE BIG AMD THE LITTLE
find aboard sliip, and alien in taste
and preparation.
But they were good, and lasted
long.
The tech-man was short, and his
skin glistened with well-kept plump-
ness. His hair was a fringe and
his skull shone through pinkly. The
rings on his fingers were thick and
heavy, his clothes were scented, and
he was the first man Mallow had
met on the planet who hadn’t looked
hungry.
The tech-man’s lips pursed peev-
ishly, “Now, my man, quickly. I
have things of great importance
waiting for me. You seem a stran-
ger — ” He seemed to evaluate Mal-
low’s definitely un-Siwennese cos-
tume and his eyelids were heavy
with suspicion.
“I am not of the neighborhood,”
said Mallow, calmly, “but the mat-
ter is irrelevant. I have had the
honor to send you a little gift yes-
terday — ”
The tech-man’s nose lifted. “I
received it. An interesting gew-
gaw. I may have use for it on oc-
casion.”
"I have other and more interest-
ing gifts. Quite out of the gewgaw
stage.”
“Oh-hl” The tech-man’s voice
lingered thoughtfully over the
monosyllable. “I think I already
see the course of the interview; it
lias happened before. You are go-
ing to give me some trifle or other.
A few credits, perhaps, a cloak,
second-rate jewelry; anything your
little soul may think sufficient to
corrupt a tech-man.” His lower lip
»3
puffed out belligerently, “And I
know what you wish in exchange.
There have been others to suffice
with the same bright idea. You
wish to be adopted into our clan.
You wish to be taught the mysteries
of atomics and the care of the ma-
chines. You think because you dogs
of Siwenna — and probably your
strangerhood is assumed for
safety’s sake — are being daily pun-
ished for your rebellion that you
can escape what you deserve by
throwing over yourselves the privi-
leges and protections of the tech-
man's guild.”
Mallow would have spoken, but
the tech-man raised himself into a
sudden roar. “And now leave be-
fore I report your name to the Pro-
tector of the City. Do you think
that I would betray the trust ? The
Siwennese traitors that preceded me
—perhaps! But you deal with a
different breed now. Why, Gal-
axy, I marvel that I do not kill you
myself at this moment with iny two
hands.”
Mallow smiled to himself. The
entire speech was so patently arti-
ficial in tone and content, that all
his dignified indignation degener-
ated into inspired farce.
The trader glanced humorously
at the two flabby hands that had
been named his possible execution-
ers then and there, and said, “Your
Wisdom, you are wrong on three
counts. First, I am not a creature
of the viceroy come to test your
loyalty. Secondly, my gift is some-
thing the Emperor himself in all
his splendor does not and will never
possess. Thirdly, what I wish in
34
return is very little ; a nothing ; a
mere breath.”
“So you say I” He descended
into heavy sarcasm. "Come, what
is this imperial donation that your
godlike power wishes to bestow
upon me ? Something the Emperor
doesn’t have, eh?” lie broke into
a sharp squawk of derision.
Mallow rose and pushed the chair
aside, “I have waited three days
to see you, Your Wisdom, but the
display will take only three seconds.
If you will just draw that blaster
whose butt I see very near your
hand — ”
“Eh?”
“And shoot me, I will be
obliged.”
"What?”
“If I am killed, you can tell the
police I tried to bribe you into be-
traying guild secrets. You’ll re-
ceive high praise. If 1 am not
killed, you may have my shield.”
For the first time, the tech-man
became aware of the dimly- white
illumination that hovered closely
about his visitor, as though he had
been dipped in pearl-dust. Ilis
blaster raised to the level and with
eyes a-squint in wonder and sus-
picion, he closed contact.
The molecules of air caught in
the sudden surge of atomic disrup-
tion, tore into glowing, burning
ions, and marked out the blinding
thin line that struck at Mallow’s
heart — and splashed!
While Mallow’s look of patience
never changed, the atomic forces
that tore at him consumed them-
selves against that fragile, pearly
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION
illumination, and crashed back to
die in midair.
The tech-man’s blaster dropped
to the floor with an unnoticed
crash.
Mallow said, "Does the Em-
peror have a personal force-shield?
You can have one.”
The tech-man stuttered, "Are
you a tech-man?”
"No.”
"Then . . . then where did you
get that?”
"VVliat do you care?” Mallow
was coolly contemptuous. “Do you
want it?” A thin, knobbed chain
fell upon the desk, "There it is.”
The tech-man snatched it up and
fingered it nervously, “Is this com-
plete ?”
“Complete.”
"Where’s the power?”
Mallow's finger fell upon the
largest knob, dull in its leaden case.
The tech-man looked up, and his
face congested with blood, “Sir, I
am a tech-man, senior grade. I
have twenty years behind me as
supervisor and I studied under the
great Bier at the University of
Trantor. If you have the infernal
charlatanry to tell me that a small
container the size of a ... of a
walnut, blast it, holds an atomic
generator, I’ll have you before the
Protector in three seconds.”
"Explain it yourself then, if you
can. 1 say it’s complete.”
The tech-man’s flush faded
slowly as he bound the chain about
his waist, and, following Mallow’s
gesture, pushed the knob. The ra-
diance that surrounded him shone
into dim relief. His blaster lifted,
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
then hesitated. Slowly, he adjusted
it to an almost burn-lcss minimum.
And then, convulsively, he closed
circuit and the atomic fire dashed
against his hand, harmlessly.
He whirled, "And what if I shoot
you now, and keep the shield.”
“Try!” said Mallow. "Do you
think I gave you my only sample.”
And he, too, was solidly incased in
light.
The tcch-man giggled nervously.
The blaster clattered onto the desk.
He said, "And what is this mere
nothing, this breath, that you wish
in return?”
"I want to see your generators.”
"You realize that that is forbid-
den. It would mean ejection into
space for both of us — ”
“I don’t want to touch them or
have anything to do with them. I
want to see them — from a dis-
tance.”
"If not?”
"If not, you have your shield, but
I have other things. For one thing,
a blaster especially designed to
pierce that shield.”
"Hm-m-m,” the tech-man's eyes
shifted. "Come with me.”
The tech-man’s home was a small
two-story affair on the outskirts of
the huge, cubical, windowless affair
that dominated the center of the
city. Mallow passed from one to
the other through an underground
passage, and found himself in the
silent, ozone-tinged atmosphere of
the powerhouse.
For fifteen minutes, he followed
his guide and said nothing. His
eyes missed nothing. His fingers
AST — 2K 86
touched nothing. And then, the
tech-man said in strangled tones,
“Have you had enough ? I
couldn’t trust my underlings in this
case.”
“Could you ever?” asked Mal-
low, ironically. “I’ve had enough.”
They were back in the office and
Mallow said, thoughtfully, “And
all those generators are in your
hands ?”
“Every one,” said the tech-man,
with more than a touch of com-
placency.
“And you keep them running and
in order?”
“Right 1”
“And if they break down?”
The tech-man shook his head in-
dignantly, “They don’t break down.
( Thcy never break down. They
were built for eternity.”
“Eternity is a long time. Just
suppose — ”
“It is unscientific to suppose
'meaningless cases."
“All right. Suppose I were to
blast a vital part into nothingness?
I suppose the machines aren't im-
mune to atomic forces. Suppose I
fuse a vital connection, or smash a
quartz D-tube?”
“Well, then,” shouted the tech-
man, furiously, “you would be
killed”
“Yes, I know that,” Mallow was
shouting, too, “but what about the
generator? Could you repair it?”
“Sir,” the tech-man howled his
words, “you have had a fair re-
turn. You've had what you asked
for. Now get out! I owe you
nothing more l”
M
Mallow bowed with a satiric re-
spect and left.
Two days later he was back at
the base where the Far Star waited
to return with him to the planet,
Terminus.
And two days later, the tech-
man’s shield went dead, and for all
his puzzling and cursing, never
glowed again.
V.
Mallow relaxed for almost the
first time in six months. He was
on his back in the sunroom of his
new house, stripped to the skiti.
His great, brown arms were thrown
up and out, and the muscles taut-
ened into a stretch, then faded into
repose.
The man beside him placed a
cigar between Mallow's teeth and
lit it. He champed on one of his
own and said, “You must be over-
worked. Maybe you need a long
rest.”
“Maybe I do, Jael, but I’d rather
rest in a council seat. Because I’m
going to have that scat, and you’re
going to help me.”
Ankor Jael raised his eyebrows
and said, “IIow did I get into
this?”
“You got in obviously. Firstly,
you’re an old dog of a politico.
Secondly, you were booted out of
your cabinet scat by Jorane Sutt,
the same fellow who’d rather lose
an eyeball than see me in the coun-
cil. You don’t think much of my
chances, do you?”
“Not much,” agreed the ex-Min-
ASTOUNDINO SCIENCE FICTION
istcr of Kducation. “You’re a
Smyrnian.”
“That’s no legal bar. I’ve had a
lay education.”
“Well, come now. Since when
does prejudice follow any law but
its own. Now, how about your
own man — this Jaim Twer? What
does he say?”
“He spoke about running me for
council almost a year ago,” replied
Mallow easily, “but I’ve outgrown
him. He couldn’t have pulled it
off in any case. Not enough depth.
He’s loud and forceful — but that’s
only an expression of nuisance
value. I’m off to put over a real
coup. I need you**
“Jorane Sutt is the cleverest poli-
tician on the planet and he’ll be
against you. I don’t claim to be
able to outsmart him. And don’t
think he doesn’t fight hard, and
dirty.”
“I’ve got money.”
“That helps. But it takes a lot
to buy off prejudice — you dirty
Smyrnian.”
“I’ll have a lot.”
“Well, I’ll look into the matter.
But don’t ever you crawl up on
your hind legs and bleat that I en-
couraged you in the matter. Who’s
that?”
Mallow pulled the corners of his
mouth down, and said, “Jorane Sutt
himself, I think. He’s early, and
I can understand it. I’ve been
dodging him for a month. Look,
Jael, get into the next room, and
turn die speaker on low. I want
you to listen.”
He helped the council member
out of the room with a shove of his
THE BIG AXD THE LITTLE
bare foot, then scrambled up and
into a silk robe. The synthetic sun-
light faded to normal power.
The secretary to the mayor en-
tered stiffly, while the solemn major-
domo tiptoed the door shut behind
him.
Mallow fastened his belt and
said, "Take your choice of chairs,
Sutt.”
Sutt barely cracked a flicking
smile. The chair he chose was
comfortable but lie did not relax
into it. From its edge, lie said, “If
you’ll state your terms to begin
with, we’ll get down to business.”
"What terms?”
“You wish to be coaxed? Well,
then, what, for instance, did you do
at Korell? Your report was in-
complete.”
“I gave it to you months ago.
You were satisfied then.”
“Yes,” Sutt nibbed his forehead
thoughtfully with one finger, “but
since then your activities have been
significant. We know a good deal
of what you’re doing, Mallow. We
know, exactly, how many factories
you’re putting up; in what a hurry
you’re doing it; and how' much it’s
costing you. And there’s this pal-
ace you have,” he gazed about him
with a cold lack of appreciation,
“which set you back considerably
more than my annual salary ; and a
swathe you’ve been cutting — a very
considerable and expensive swathe
— through the upper layers of Foun-
dation society.”
“So? Beyond proving that you
employ capable spies, what. does it
show' ?”
“It show's you have money you
87
didn't have a year ago. And that
can show anything — for instance,
ithat a good deal went on at Korell
[that we know nothing of. Where
are you getting your money ?"
“My dear Sutt, yoii can't really
expect me to tell you."
“I don't.”
“I didn't think you did. That's
why I'm going to tell you. It's
straight from the treasure-chests of
the Commdor of Korell."
Sutt blinked,
Mallow smiled and continued,
“Unfortunately for you, the money
is quite legitimate. I'm a master
trader and the money I received was
a quantity of hematite and chromite
I received in exchange for a num-
ber of trinkets I was able to sup-
ply him with. Fifty percent is mine
by hide-bound contract with the
Foundation. The other half goes
to the government at the end of the
year when all good citizens pay
their income tax.”
“There was no mention of any
trade agreement in your report.”
“Nor was there any mention of
what I had for breakfast that day,
or the name of my current mis-
tress, or any other irrelevant de-
tail." Mallow's smile was fading
into a sneer. “I was sent — to quote
yourself — to keep my eyes open.
They were never shut. You wanted
to find out what happened to the
captured Foundation merchant
ships. I never saw or heard of
them. You wanted to find out if
Korell had atomic power. My re-
port tells of atomic blasters in the
possession of the Commdor ’s pri-
vate bodyguard. I saw no other
signs. And the blasters I did see
are relics of the old Empire, and
may be show-pieces that do not
work, for all my knowledge.
“So far, I followed orders, but
beyond that I was, and still am. a
free agent. According to the laws
of the Foundation, a master trader
may open whatever new markets he
can, and receive therefrom his due
half of the profits. What are your
objections? I don't see them."
Sutt bent his eyes carefully to-
wards the wall and spoke with a
difficult lack of anger, “It is the
general custom of all Traders to ad-
vance the religion with their trade."
“I adhere to law, and not to cus-
tom."
“There are times when custom
can be the higher law."
“Then appeal to the courts.”
Sutt raised somber eyes which
seemed to retreat into their sock-
ets. “You’re a Smyrnian after all.
It seems naturalization and educa-
tion can’t wipe out the taint in the
blood. Listen, and try to under-
stand, just the same.
“This goes beyond money, or
markets. We have the science of
the great Hari Seldon to prove that
upon us depends the future empire
of the Galaxy, and from the course
that leads to that Imperium we can-
not turn. The religion we have is
our all-important instrument to-
wards that end. With it we have
brought the Four Kingdoms under
our control, even at the moment
when they would have crushed us.
It is the most potent device known
88
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
with which to control men and
worlds.
“The primary reason for the de-
velopment of Trade was to intro-
duce and spread this religion more
quickly, and to insure that the intro-
duction of new techniques and a
new economy would be subject to
our thorough and intimate control.”
He paused for breath, and Mal-
low interjected quietly, “I know the
theory. I understand it entirely.”
"Do- you ? It is more than I ex-
pected. Then you see, of coarse,
that your attempt at trade for its
own sake; at mass production of
worthless gadgets, which can only
effect a world’s economy superfi-
cially; at the subversion of inter-
stellar policy to the god of profits;
at the divorce of atomic power from
our controlling religion — can only
end at the overthrow and complete
negation of the policy that has
worked successfully for a century.”
"And time enough, too,” said
Mallow, indifferently, “for a policy
outdated, dangerous, and newly-im-
possible. However well your re-
ligion has succeeded in the Four
Kingdoms, not another world in the
Periphery has accepted it. At the
time we seized control of the King-
doms, there were a sufficient num-
ber of exiles, Galaxy knows, to
spread the story of how Salvor
Hardin used the priesthood and the
superstition of the people to over-
throw the independence and power
of the secular monarch. There isn’t
a ruler in the Periphery now that
wouldn't sooner cut his own throat
than let a priest of the Foundation
enter the territory.
"I don’t propose to force Korell
or any other world to accept some-
thing I know they don't want. No,
Sutt. If atomic power makes them
dangerous, a sincere friendship
through trade will be many times
better than an insecure overlord-
ship, based on the hated supremacy
of a foreign spiritual power, which,
once it weakens ever so slightly,
can only fall entirely and leave
nothing substantial behind except
an immortal tear and hate.”
Sutt said cynically, “Very nicely
put. So, to get back to the original
point of discussion, what are your
terms? What do you require to
exchange your ideas for mine.”
"You think my convictions are
for sale?”
"Why not?” came the cold re-
sponse. “Isn’t that your business,
buying and selling?”
"Only at a profit,” said Mallow,
unoffended. "Can you offer me
more than I’m getting as is.”
"You could have three-quarters
of your trade profits, rather than
half.”
Mallow laughed shortly, “A fine
offer. The whole of the trade on
your terms would fall far below a
tenth share on mine. Try harder
than that.”
“You could have a council seat.”
“Pll have that, anyway, without
and despite you.”
With a sudden movement, Sutt
clenched his fist, "You could also
save yourself a prison term. Of
twenty years, if I have iny way.
Count the profit in that.”
"No profit at all, unless you can
fulfill your threat.”
TUB BIO AND THE LITTLE
89
“It's trial for murder.”
"Whose murder?” asked Mal-
low, contemptuously.
Sutt’s voice was harsh now,
though no louder than before, “The
murder of an Anacreonian priest,
in the service of the Foundation.”
“Is that so now? And what’s
your evidence?”
The secretary to the mayor leaned
forward, “Mallow, I’m not bluff-
ing. The preliminaries are over.
I have only to sign one final paper
and the case of the Foundation
versus Hober Mallow, master
trader is begun. You abandoned a
subject of the Foundation to tor-
ture and death at the hands of an
alien mob, Mallow, and you have
only five seconds to prevent the
punishment due you. For myself,
I’d rather you decided to bluff it
out. You’d be safer as a destroyed
enemy, than as a doubtfully-con-
verted friend.”
Mallow said, solemnly, “You
have your wish.”
“Good 1” and the secretary smiled
savagely. “It was the mayor who
wished the preliminary attempt at
compromise, not I. Witness that
I did not try too hard.”
The door opened before him, and
he left.
Mallow looked up as Ankor Jael
re-entered the room.
Mallow said, “Did you hear
him ?”
The politician flopped to the
floor. “I never heard him as angry
as that, since I’ve known the
snake.”
“All right What do you make
of it?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. A foreign
40
ASTOUNDING SC TENCH FICTION
policy of domination through spir-
itual means is his idee fixe, but it’s
my notion that his ultimate aims
aren’t spiritual. I was fired out of
the Cabinet for arguing on the same
issue, as I needn't tell you.”
"You needn’t. And what are
those unspiritual aims according to
your notion?’ 1
Jael grew serious, "Well, lie’s
not stupid, so he must see the bank-
ruptcy of our religious policy,
which hasn’t made a single conquest
for us in seventy years. He’s ob-
viously using it for purposes of his
own.
"Now any dogma, primarily
based on faith and emotionalism,
is a dangerous weapon to use on
others, since it is almost impossible
to guarantee that the weapon will
never be turned on the user. For
a hundred years now, we’ve sup-
ported a ritual and mythology that
is becoming more and more vener-
able, traditional — and immovable.
In some ways, it isn’t under our
control any more.”
"In what ways ?” demanded Mal-
low. "Don’t stop. I want your
thoughts.”
“Well, suppose one man, one am-
bitious man, uses the force of re-
ligion against us, rather than for
us.”
"You mean Sutt — ”
"You’re right, I mean Sutt. Lis-
ten, man, if he could mobilize the
various hierarchies on the subject
planets against the Foundation in
the name of orthodoxy, what chance
would we stand? By planting him-
self at the head of the standards
of the pious, he could make war
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
on heresy, as represented by you,
for instance, and make himself king
eventually. After all, it was Hardin
who said: 'An atom-blaster is a
good weapon, but it can point both
ways.’ ”
Mallow slapped his bare thigh,
"All right, Jael, then get me in that
council, and I’ll fight him.”
Jael paused, then said signifi-
cantly, "Maybe not. What was all
that about having a priest lynched.
It isn’t true, is it?”
"It’s true enough,” Mallow said,
carelessly.
Jael whistled, "Has he definite
proof ?”
"He should have.” He hesitated,
then added, "Jaim Twer was his
man from the beginning, though
neither of them knew that I knew
that. And Jaim Twer was an eye-
witness.”
Jael shook his head. "Uh-oh.
That’s bad.”
"Bad? What’s bad about it.
That priest was illegally upon the
planet by the Foundation's own
laws. He was obviously used by
the Korellian government as a bait,
whether involuntary or not. By all
the laws of commonsense, I had no
choice but one action — and that
action was strictly within- the law.
If he brings me to trial, he’ll do
nothing but make a prime fool of
himself.”
And Jael shook his head again,
"No, Mallow, you’ve missed it. I
told you he played dirty. He's not
out to convict you; he knows he
can’t do that. But he is out to ruin
your standing with the people. You
heard what he said. Custom is
41
higher than law, at times. You
could walk out of the trial scot-
free, but if the people think you
threw a priest to the dogs, your
popularity is gone.
“You’ll be legal. You’ll even be
sensible. But you’ll be a cowardly
dog, an unfeeling brute, a hard-
hearted monster. And you would
never get elected to the council.
You might even lose your rating as
master trader by having your citi-
zenship voted away from you.
You're not native-born you know.
What more do you think Sutt can
want ?”
Mallow frowned stubbornly,
“So!"
“My boy,” said JacL “I’ll stand
by you, but I can’t help. You’re
on the spot — dead center."
The council chamber was full in
a very literal sense on the fourth
day of the trial of Hober Mallow,
master trader. The only council-
man absent was feebly cursing the
fractured skull that had bedridden
him. The galleries were filled to
the aisleways and ceilings with
those few of the crowd who by in-
fluence, wealth, or sheer diabolic
perseverance had managed to get
in. The rest filled the square out-
side, in swarming knots about the
open-air trimcnsional visors.
Ankor Jael made his way into the
chamber with the near-futile aid
and exertions of the police depart-
ment, and then through the scarce-
less confusion within to Hober Mal-
low's seat. #
Mallow turned with relief, “By
it
Seldon, you cut it thin. Have you
got it?"
“Here, take it," said Jael. It’s
all you want.”
“Good. How’rc they taking it
outside ?”
“They’re wild clear through.”
Jael stirred uneasily, “You should
never have allowed public hearings.
You could have stopped them."
“I didn’t want to.”
“There’s lynch talk. And Publis
Manlio’s men on the outer planets
“I wanted to ask you about that,
Jael. He’s stirring up the Hier-
archy against me, is he?"
“ Is he? It's the sweetest set-
up you ever saw. As Foreign Sec-
retary, he handles the prosecution
in a case of international law. As
High-Priest and Primate of the
Church, he rouses the fanatic
hordes — ’’
“Well, forget it. Do you remem-
ber that Hardin quotation you
threw at me last month? We’ll
show them that the atom-blaster
can point both ways."
The mayor was taking his seat
now and the council members were
rising in respect.
Mallow whispered, “It’s my turn
today. Sit here and watch the fun.”
The day’s proceedings began and
fifteen minutes later, Hober Mal-
low stepped through a hostile whis-
per to the empty space before the
mayor’s bench. A lone beam of
light centered upon him, and in the
public visors of the city, as well as
on the myriads of private visors in
almost every home of the planets,
the lonely, giant figure of a man
ASTOUNDING SCIENCEFICTION
stared out defiantly.
He began easily and quietly, “To
save time, I will admit the truth of
every point made against me by the
prosecution. The story of the priest
and the mob as related by them is
perfectly accurate in every detail.”
There was a stirring in the cham-
ber and a triumphant mass-snarl
from the gallery. lie waited pa-
tiently for silence.
“However, the picture they pre-
sented fell short of completion. I
ask the privilege of supplying the
completion in my own fashion. My
story may seem irrelevant at first.
I ask your indulgence for that.”
Mallow made no reference to the
notes before him:
“I begin at the same time as the
prosecution did; the day of my
meetings with Jorane Sutt and Jaim
Twer. What went on at those
meetings you know. The conver-
sations have been described, and
to that description I have nothing to
add — except my own thoughts of
that day.
“They were suspicious thoughts,
for the events of that day were
queer. Consider. Two people,
neither of whom I knew more than
casually, make unnatural and some-
what unbelievable propositions to
me. One, the secretary to the
mayor, asks me to play the part of
intelligence agent to the govern-
ment in a highly confidental matter,
the nature and importance of which
has already been explained to you.
The other self-styled leader of a
political party, asks me to run for
a council scat.
“Naturally I looked for the ul-
THE DIG AND THE LITTLE
terior motive. Suit’s seemed evi-
dent. He didn’t trust me. Perhaps
he thought I was selling atomic
power to enemies and plotting re-
bellion. And perhaps he was forc-
ing the issue, or thought he was.
In that case, he would need a man
of his own near me on my proposed
mission, as a spy. The last thought,
however, did not occur to me until
later on, when Jaim Twer came on
the scene.
“Consider again: Twer presents
himself as a trader, retired into
politics, yet I know of no details
of his trading career, although my
knowledge of the field is immense.
And further, although Twer boasted
a lay education, he had never heard
of a Seldon crisis.”
Hober Mallow let the significance
sink in and was rewarded with the
first silence he had yet encountered,
as the gallery caught its collective
breath.
Mallow continued:
“Who here can honestly state that
any man with a lay education can
possibly be ignorant of the nature
of a Seldon crisis? There is only
one type of education upon the
Foundation that excludes 'all men-
tion of Seldon and his planned his-
tory —
“I knew at that instant that Jaim
Twer had never been a trader. I
knew then that he was in holy or-
ders and perhaps a full-fledged
priest; and, doubtless, that for the
three years he had pretended to
head a political party of the traders,
he had been a bought man of Jorane
Sutt.
48
“At the moment, I struck in the
dark. I did not know Sutt’s pur-
poses with regard to me, but since
he seemed to be feeding me rope
liberally, I handed him a few fa-
thoms of my own. My notion was
that T wcr was to be with me on my
voyage as unofficial guardian on be-
half of Jorane Sutt. Well, if he
didn't get on, I knew well there* d
be other devices waiting — and those
others I might not catch in time.
A known enemy is relatively safe.
I invited Twer to come with me.
He accepted.
“That, gentlemen of the council,
explains two tilings. First, it tells
you that Twer is not a friend of
mine testifying against me reluc-
tantly and for conscience’ sake.
He’s a spy, performing liis paid job.
Secondly, it explains a certain action
of mine on the occasion of the first
appearance of the priest whom I am
accused of having murdered — ail
action as yet unmentioned, because
unknown.”
Now there was a disturbed whis-
pering in the council. Mallow
cleared his throat theatrically, and
continued :
“I hate to describe my feelings
when I first heard that we had a
refugee missionary on board. I
even hate to remember them. Es-
sentially, they consisted of wild un-
certainty. The event struck me at
the moment as a move by Sutt, and
passed beyond my comprehension
or calculation. I was at sea — and
completely.
“There was one thing I could do.
I got rid of Twer for five minutes
by sending him after my officers.
In his absence, 1 set up a Visual
Record receiver, so that whatever
happened might he preserved for
future study. This was in the
hope, the wild but earnest hope,
that what confused me badly at the
time, might become plain upon re-
view.
“I have gone over that Visual Re-
cord some fifty times since. I have
it here with me now, and will re-
peat the job a fifty-first time in
your presence right now.”
The mayor pounded monoton-
ously for order, as the chamber lost
its equilibrium and the gallery
roared. In five million homes, ex-
cited observers crowded their re-
ceiving sets more closely, and at the
prosecutor's own bench, Jorane
Sutt shook his head coldly at the
nervous high priest, while his eyes
blazed fixedly on Mallow’s face.
The center of the chamber was
cleared, and the lights burnt low.
Ankor Jael, from his bench on the
left, make the adjustments, and
with a preliminary click, a scene
sprang to view; in color, in three-
dimensions, in every attribute of
life but life itself.
There was the missionary, con-
fused and battered, standing be-
tween the lieutenant and the ser-
geant. Mallow's image waited
silently, and then men filed in, Twer
bringing up the rear.
The conversation played itself
out, word for word. The sergeant
was disciplined, and the missionary
was questioned. The mob appeared,
their growl could be heard, and the
Revered Jord Parma made his wild
appeal. Mallow drew his gun, and
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
the missionary, as lie was dragged
away, lifted his arms in a mad, final
curse, and a tiny flash of light came
and went
The scene ended, with the officers
frozen at the horror of the situa-
tion, while Twer clamped shaking
hands over his ears, and Mallow
calmly put his gun away.
The lights were on again; the
empty space in the center of the
floor was no' longer even appar-
ently full. Mallow', the real Mal-
low of the present, took up the bur-
den of his narration:
"The incident, you see, is exactly
as the prosecution has presented it
— on the surface. I’ll explain that
shortly. Jaim Twer’s emotions
through the whole business shows
dearly a priestly education, by the
way.
"It was on that same day that
I pointed out certain incongruities
in the episode to Twer. I asked
him where the missionary came
from in the midst of the near-deso-
late tract wc occupied at the time.
I asked further where the gigantic
mob had come from with the near-
est sizable town a hundred miles
away. There has never been an
answer to that.
"Or to other questions; for in-
stance, the curious point of Jord
Parma’s blatant conspicuousness.
A missionary on Korell, risking his
life in defiance to both Korellian
and Foundation law, parades about
in a very new and very distinctive
priestly costume. There’s some-
thing wrong. At the time, I sug-
gested that the missionary was an
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
unwitting accomplice of the Conun-
dor, who was using him in an at-
tempt to force us into an act of
wildly illegal aggression, to justify
his subsequent destruction of our
ship and of us.
"The prosecution has anticipated
this justification of my actions, and
has replied to it with their mutter-
ings of the Foundation’s ‘honor’
and the necessity of upholding our
‘dignity’ in order to maintain our
ascendancy. That, and various
other tinchewable phrases.
"For some strange reason, how-’
ever, the prosecution neglected
Jord Parma himself — as an indi-
vidual. They brought out no de-
tails concerning him; neither his
birthplace, nor his education, nor
any detail of previous history. The
explanation of this will also ex-
plain the incongruities I have
pointed out in the Visual Record
you have just seen. The two are
connected.
"The prosecution has advanced
no details concerning Jord Parma
because it cannot. That scene you
saw by Visual Record seemed
phony because Jord Parma was
phony. There never 7tus a Jord
Parma. This whole trial is the big-
gest farce ever cooked up over an
issue that never existed
Once more he had to wait for the
babble to die down. lie said,
slowly :
"I’m going to show you the en-
largement of a single still from the
Visual Record. It will speak for
itself. Lights again, Jack”
The chamber dimmed, and the
empty air filled again with frozen
45
figures in ghastly, waxen illusion.
The officers of the Far Star struck
their stiff, impossible attitudes. A
gun pointed from Mallow’s rigid
hand. At his left, the Revered
Jord Farma, caught in mid-shriek,
stretched his claws upward, while
the falling sleeves hung halfway.
And from the missionary’s hand
there was that little gleam that in
the previous showing had flashed
and gone. It was a permanent glow
now.
“Keep your eye on that light on
his hand,” called Mallow from the
shadows. “Enlarge the scene,
Jael !”
The tableau bloated — quickly.
Outer portions fell away as the mis-
sionary drew towards the center and
became a giant. Then there was
only a head and an arm — and then
only a hand, which filled every-
thing and remained there in im-
mense, hazy tautness.
The light had become a pair of
; fuzzy, glowing letters: K S P.
“That,” Mallow’s voice boomed
out, “is a sample of tattooing, gen-
tlemen. Under ordinary light it is
invisible, but under ultraviolet
light — with which 1 flooded the
room in taking this Visual Record
it stands out in high relief. I’ll ad-
mit it is a naive method of secret
identification, but it works on
Korell, where UV light isn’t found
on street corners. Even in our ship,
detection was accidental.
“Perhaps some of you liave al-
ready guessed that K S P stands
for ‘Korellian Secret Police.’ ”
Mallow shouted over the tumult,
roaring against the noise, “I have
collateral proof in the form of docu-
ments brought from Korell which
I can present to the council, if re-
quired.
“And so where now is the prose-
cution’s case? They have already
made and re-made the monstrous
suggestion that I should have fought
for the missionary in defiance of
the law, and sacrificed my mission,
my ship, and myself to the ‘honor’
of the Foundation.
“But to do it for an impostor?
“Should I have done it then for
a Korellian secret agent tricked out
in the robes and verbal gymnastics
doubtless borrowed of an Ana-
crconian exile ? Would Jorane Sutt
and Publis Manlio have liad me fall
into a stupid, odious trap — ”
His hoarsened voice faded into
the featureless background of a
shouting mob. He was being lifted
onto shoulders, and carried to the
mayor’s bench. Out the windows,
he could see a torrent of madmen
swarming into the square to add
to the thousands there already.
Mallow looked about for Ankor
Jael, but it was impossible to find
any single face in the incoherence
of the mass. Slowly he became
aware of a rhythmic, repeated
shout, that was spreading from a
small beginning, and pulsing into
madness :
“Long live Mallow — long live
Mallow — long live Mallow — ”
Ankor Jael blinked at Mallow out
of a haggard face. The last two
days had been mad, sleepless ones.
“Mallow, you've put on a beauti-
ful show, so don’t spoil it by jump-
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
ing too high. You can’t seriously
consider running for mayor. Mob
enthusiasm is a powerful thing, but
it’s notoriously fickle.”
“Exactly I” said Mallow, grimly,
“so we must coddle it, and the best
way to do that is to continue the
show.”
“Now what.”
“You’re to have Publis Manlio
and Joranc Sutt arrested — ”
“What!”
“Yes! Have the mayor arrest
them 1 I don’t care what threats
you use. I control the mob — to-
day, anyway. He won’t dare face
them.”
“On what charge, man?”
“On the obvious one. They’ve
been inciting the priesthood of the
outer planets to take sides in the
fractional quarrels of the Founda-
tion. That’s risky, and illegal.
Charge them with ‘endangering the
state.’ And I don’t care about
a conviction any more than they
did in my case. Just get them out
of circulation until I’m mayor.”
"It’s half a year till election.”
“Not too long !” Mallow was on
his feet, and his sudden grip of
Jael’s arm was tight. “Listen, I’d
seize the government by force if
I had to — the way Salvor Hardin
did a hundred years ago. There’s
still that Scldon crisis coming up,
and when it comes I have to be
mayor and high priest. Both!”
Jael’s brow furrowed. He said,
quietly, “What’s it going to be?
f Korell, after all?”
Mallow nodded, “Of course.
She’ll declare war, eventually,
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
though I’m betting it’ll take another
pair of years.”
"With atomic ships?”
“What do you think? Those
three merchant ships we lost in
their space sector weren't knocked
over with compressed-air pistols.
Jacl, they’re getting ships from the
Empire itself. Don’t open your
mouth like a fool. I said the Em-
pire! It’s still there, you know,
and one false move means it, itself,
will be on our necks. That’s why
I must be mayor and high priest.
I’m the only man who knows how
to fight the crisis.”
Jael swallowed dryly, “How?
What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
Jael smiled uncertainly, “Really!
All of that!”
But Mallow’s answer was inci-
sive, “When I’m boss of this Foun-
dation, I’m going to do nothing.
One hundred percent of nothing.”
VI.
Asper Argo, the Well-beloved,
Commdor of the Korellian Repub-
lic greeted his wife’s entry by a
hangdog lowering of his scanty eye-
brows. To her at least, his self-
adopted epithet did not apply.
Even he knew that.
She said, in a voice as sleek as
her hair and as cold as her eyes,
"My gracious lord, I understand,
has finally come to a decision upon
the fate of the Foundation up-
starts.”
“Indeed?” said the Commdor,
sourly. "And what more does your
versatile understanding embrace?”
47
“Enough, my very noble husband.
You had another of your vacillat-
ing consultations with your coun-
cilors. Fine advisors.” With in-
finite scorn, “A herd of palsied,
purblind idiots hugging their sterile
profits close to their sunken chests
in the face of my father’s displeas-
ure.”
“And who, my dear,” was the
mild response, “is the excellent
source from which your under-
standing understands all this.”
The Commdora laughed shortly,
“If I told you, my source would be
more corpse than source.”
“Well, you'll have your own way,
as always.” The Commdor
shrugged and turned away. “And
as for your father’s displeasure:
I much fear me it extends to a
niggardly refusal to supply more
ships.”
“More ships 1” She blazed away,
hotly, “And haven't you five?
Don’t deny it. I know you have
five; and a sixth is promised.”
“Promised for the last year.”
“But one — just one — can blast
that Foundation into stinking rub-
ble. Just one! One, to sweep their
little pygmy boats out of space,
i with their cargoes of toys and
trash.”
“Those toys and trash mean
money — a good deal of money.”
But if you had the Foundation,
would you not have all it con-
tained ? And if you had my father's
respect and gratitude, would you
!not have more than ever the Foun-
dation could give you? It’s been
three years — more — since that bar-
barian came with his magic side-
show. It’s long enough.”
“My dear!” The Commdor
turned and faced her. “I am grow-
ing old. I am weary. I lack the
resilience to withstand your rat-
tling mouth. You say you know
that I have decided. Well, I have.
It is over, and there is war between
Korcll and the Foundation.”
“Well!” The Commdora's figure
expanded and her eyes sparkled,
“you learn wisdom in your dotage.
And now when you are master of
this hinterland, you may be suffi-
ciently respectable to be of some
weight and importance in the Em-
pire. For one thing, we might leave
this barbarous world and attend
the viceroy’s court. Indeed we
might.”
She swept out, with a smile, and
a hand on her hip. Her hair
gleamed in the light.
The Commdor waited, and then
said to the closed door, with malig-
nance and hate, “And when I am
master of what you call the hinter-
land, I may be sufficiently respec-
table to do without your father's
arrogance and his daughter’s
tongue. Completely — without 1”
The senior lieutenant of the Dark
Nebula stared in horror at the visi-
plate.
“Great Galloping Galaxies l” It
should have been a howl, but it
was a whisper instead, “What's
that ?”
It was a ship, but a whale to the
Dark Nebula’s minnow; and on its
side was the Spaceship-and-Sun of
the Empire. Every alarm on the
ship yammered hysterically.
ASTOUNDING SC IKNCEFICTION
The orders went out, and the
Dark Nebula prepared to run if it
could, and fight if it must — while
down in the ultrawave room, a mes-
sage stormed its way through hyper-
space to the Foundation.
Over and over again! Partly a
plea for help, but mainly a warning
of danger.
Hobcr Mallow shuffled his feet
wearily, as he leafed through the
reports. Two years of the mayor-
alty had made him a bit more house-
broken, a bit softer, a bit more pa-
tient — but it had not made him
learn to like government reports
and the mind-breaking officialese in
which they were written.
“IIow many ships did they get?”
asked Jacl.
“Four trapped on the ground.
Two unreported. All others ac-
counted for and safe.” Mallow
grunted, “We should have done
better, but it's just a scratch.”
There was no answer and Mal-
low looked up, “Does anything
worry you?”
“I wish Sutt would get here,”
was the almost irrelevant answer.
“Ah, yes, and now we’ll hear
another lecture on the home front.”
“No, we won’t,” snapped Jael,
“but you’re stubborn. Mallow. You
may have worked out the foreign
situation to the last detail but you’ve
never given a care about what goes
on here on the Foundation.”
“Well, that’s your job, isn’t it?
What did I make you Minister of
Education and Propaganda for?”
“Obviously to send me to an early
and miserable grave, for all the co-
operation you give me. For the last
year, I’ve been deafening you with
the rising danger of Suit and his
Religionists. What good will your
plans be, if Sutt forces a special
election and has you thrown out?”
“None, I admit.”
“And your speech last night just
about handed the election to Sutt
with a smile and a pat. Was there
any necessity of being so frank?”
“Isn’t there such a thing as steal-
ing Sutt’s thunder?”
48
TUB mo AND TFJ5 L1TTLB
* “No/' said Jael, violently, “not
the way you did it. You claim to
• have foreseen everything, and don’t
i explain why you traded with Korell
'to their exclusive benefit for three
(•years. Your only plan of battle is
| to retire without a battle. You
’abandon all trade with the sectors
of space near Korell. You openly
([proclaim a stalemate. You promise
“no offensive, even in the future.
Galaxy, Mallow, what am I sup-
posed to do with such a mess?"
“It lacks glamour?”
“It lacks mob emotion-appeal.”
“Same thing.”
“Mallow, wake up. You have
two alternatives. Either you present
the people with a dynamic foreign
policy — whatever your private plans
‘ — or you make some sort of com-
f promise with Sutt.”
\ Mallow said, “All right, if I’ve
failed the first, let’s try the second.
Sutt's just arrived.”
Sutt and Mallow had not met
personally since the day of the
.trial, two years back. Neither de-
tected any change in the other, ex-
cept for that subtle atmosphere
about each which made it quite evi-
dent that the roles of ruler and de-
fier had changed.
Sutt took his seat without shak-
ing hands.
Mallow offered a cigar and said,
“Mind if Jael stays? He wants a
compromise earnestly. He can act
as mediator if tempers rise.”
Sutt shrugged, “A compromise
will be well for you. Upon an-
other occasion I once asked you to
state your terms. I presume the
positions are reversed now.”
so
“You presume correctly.”
“Then these are my terms. You
must abandon your blundering
policy of economic bribery and
trade in gadgetry, and return to
the tested foreign policy of our
fathers.”
“You mean conquest by mission-
ary.”
“Exactly.”
“No compromise short of that?”
“None.”
“Um-m-m,” Mallow lit up very
slowly, and inhaled the tip of his
cigar into a bright glow. “How
would you get us out of our present
mess ?”
“ Your present mess. I had noth-
ing to do with it.”
“Consider the question suitably
modified.”
“A strong offensive is indicated.
The stalemate you seem to be satis-
fied with is fatal. It would be a
confession of weakness to all the
worlds of the Periphery, where the
appearance of strength is all-im-
portant, and there’s not one vulture
among them that wouldn’t join the
assault for its share of the corpse.
You ought to understand that.
You're from Smymo, aren’t you?”
Mallow passed over the signifi-
cance of the remark. He said,
“And if you beat Korell, what of
the Empire? That is the real
enemy.”
Sutt’s narrow smile tugged at
the corners of his mouth, “Oh, no,
your records of your visit to Si-
wenna were complete. The viceroy
of the Normanic Sector is inter-
ested in creating dissension in the
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION
Periphery for his own benefit, but
only as a side issue. He isn’t go-
ing to stake everything on an ex-
pedition to the Galaxy's rim when
he has fifty hostile neighbors and
an emperor to rebel against. I para-
phrase your own words.”
“Oh, yes he might, Sutt, if he
thinks we’re strong enough to be
dangerous. And he might think so,
if we destroy Korell by the main
force of frontal attack. We’d have
to be considerably more subtle.”
“As, for instance — ”
Mallow leaned back, “Sutt, 1*11
give you your chance. I don’t
need you, but I can use you. So
I’ll tell you what it’s all about, and
then you can either join me and
receive a place in a coalition cabi-
net, or you can play the martyr
and rot in jail.”
“Once before you tried that last
trick.”
“Not very hard, Sutt. The right
time has only just come. Now lis-
ten.” Mallow’s eyes narrowed.
“When I first landed on Korell,”
he began, “I bribed the Commdor
with the trinkets and gadgets that
form the trader’s usual stock. At
the start, that was meant only to get
us entrance into a steel foundry. I
had no plan further than that, but in
that I succeeded. I got what I
wanted. But it was only after my
visit to the Empire that I first real-
ized exactly what a weapon I could
build that trade into.
“This is a Seldon crisis we’re
facing, Sutt, and Seldon crises are
not solved by individuals but by his-
toric forces. Hari Seldon, when
he planned our course of future
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
history, did not count on brilliant
heroics but on the broad sweeps of
economics and sociology. So the
solutions to the various crises must
be achieved by the forces that be-
come available to us at the time.
“In this case — trade.”
Sutt raised his eyebrows skepti-
cally and took advantage of the
pause, “I hope I am not of sub-
normal intelligence, but the fact is
that your vague lecture isn’t very
illuminating.”
“Well, then,” said Mallow,
wearily, "let us become very sim-
ple and specific. Korell is now at
war with us. Consequently our
trade with her has stopped. But
. . . notice that I am making this as
simple as a problem in addition . . .
in the past three years she has based
her economy more and more upon
the atomic techniques which we
have introduced and which only we
can continue to supply. Now what
do you suppose will happen once
the tiny atomic generators begin
failing, and one gadget after an-
other goes out of commission.
“The small household appliances
go first. After half a year of this
stalemate that you abhor, a woman’s
atomic knife won’t work any more.
Her stove begins failing. Her
washer doesn’t do a good job. The
temperature-humidity control in her
house dies on a hot summer day.
What happens?”
He paused for an answer, and
Sutt said calmly, “Nothing. Peo-
ple endure a good deal in war.”
“Very true. They do. They’ll
send their sons out in unlimited
numbers to die horribly on broken
61
spaceships. They’ll bear up under
enemy bombardment, if it means
they have to live on stale bread and
foul water in caves half a mile deep.
Hut it's very hard to bear up under
little things when the- patriotic up-
lift of imminent danger is not pres-
ent. It’s going to be a stalemate.
There will be no casualties, no bom-
bardments, no battles.
“There will just be a knife that
won’t cut, and a stove that won’t
cook, and a house that freezes in
the winter. It will be annoying
and people will grumble.”
.Sutt said slowly, wonderingly, "Is
that what you’re setting your hopes
on, man? What do you expect?
A housewives’ rebellion. A Jac-
querie? A sudden uprising of
butchers and grocers with their
cleavers and breadknives shouting,
‘Give us back our Automatic
Super-Kleeno Atomic Washing
Machines.* ”
“No, sir,” said Mallow, impa-
tiently, “I do not. I expect, how-
ever, a general background of grum-
bling and dissatisfaction which will
he seized on by more important
figures later on.”
“And what more important fig-
ures are these?”
"The manufacturers, the factory
owners, the industrialists of Korell.
When two years of the stalemate
have gone, the machines in the fac-
tories will, one by one, begin to fail.
Those industries which we have
changed from first to last with
atomic gadgets, will find themselves
very suddenly ruined. The heavy
industries will find themselves en
masse and at a stroke the owners
of nothing but scrap machinery that
won’t work.”
"The factories ran well enough
before you came there, Mallow.”
“Yes, Sutt, so they did — at about
one-twentieth of the profits, with-
out counting the cost of reconver-
sion. With the industrialist and the
financier and the average man all
against him, how long will the
Commdor hold out?”
“As long as he pleases, as soon
as it occurs to him to get new
atomic generators from the Em-
pire.”
And Mallow laughed joyously,
“You’ve missed, Sutt, missed as
badly as the Commdor himself.
You’ve missed everything, and un-
derstood nothing. Look, man, the
Empire can replace nothing. The
Empire has always been a realm
of colossal resources. They’ve cal-
culated everything in planets, in
stellar systems, in whole sectors of
the Galaxy. Their generators arc
gigantic because they thought in gi-
gantic fashion.
“But we . . . we, our little Foun-
dation, our single world almost
without metallic resources, have had
to work with brute economy. Our
generators have had to be the size
of our thumb, because it was all the
metal we could afford. We had to
develop new techniques and new
methods — techniques and methods
the Empire can’t follow because
they have degenerated past the
stage where they can make any
really vital scientific advance.
“With all their atomic shields,
large enough to protect a ship, a
ASTOUNDING SOIENCK-FIOTION
city, an entire world; they could
never build one to protect a single
man. To supply light and heat to a
city, they have motors six stories
high — I saw them — where ours
could fit into this room. And when
I told one of their atomic special-
ists that a lead container the size
of a walnut contained an atomic
generator, he almost choked with
indignation on the spot.
“Why, they don’t even under-
stand their own colossi any longer.
They work from generation to gen-
eration by themselves, and the care-
takers arc a hereditary caste who
would be helpless if a single D-tube
in all that vast structure burnt out.
“The whole war is a battle be-
tween those two systems; between
the Empire and the Foundation;
between the big and the little. To
seize control of a world, they bribe
with immense ships that can make
war, but lack all economic signifi-
cance. We on the other hand, bribe
with little things, useless in war,
but vital to prosperity and profits.
“A king, or a Commdor, will
take the ships and even make war.
Arbitrary rulers throughout his-
tory have bartered their subjects’
welfare for what they consider
honor, and glory, and conquest.
But it’s still the little things in life
that count — and Asper Argo won’t
stand up against the economic de-
pression that will sweep all Korell
in two or three years.”
Sutt was at the window, his back
to Mallow and Jael. It was early
evening now, and the few stars
that struggled feebly here at the
very rim of the Galaxy sparked
THE BIG AND THE LITTLE
against the background of the misty,
wispy Lens that included the rem-
nants of that Empire, still vast,
that fought against them.
Sutt said, “No. You arc not the
man.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I mean I don't trust you.
You’re smooth-tongued. You be-
fooled me properly when I thought
I had you under proper care on
your first trip to Korell. When I
thought I had you cornered at the
trial, you wormed your way out of
it and into the mayor’s chair by
demagoguery. There is nothing
straight about you; no motive that
hasn’t another behind it; no state-
ment that hasn’t three meanings.
“Suppose you were a traitor.
Suppose your visit to the Empire
had brought you a subsidy and a
promise of power. Your actions
would be precisely what they are
now. You would bring about a war
after having strengthened the
enemy. You would force the
Foundation into inactivity. And
you would advance a plausible ex-
planation of everything, one so
plausible it would convince every-
one.”
“You mean there’ll be no com-
promise?” asked fallow, gently.
“I mean you must get out, by
free will or force.”
“I warned you of the only al-
ternative to co-operation.”
Jorane Sutt’s face congested with
blood in a sudden access of emo-
tion, “And I warn you, Hobcr Mal-
low of Smyrno, that if you arrest
me, there will be no quarter. My
men will stop nowhere in spread-
53
in g the truth about you, and the
common people of the Foundation
will unite against their foreign
ruler. They have a consciousness
of destiny that a Smyrnian can
never understand — and that con-
sciousness will destroy you.”
Hober Mallow said quietly to the
two guards who had entered, “Take
him away. He's under arrest.”
Sutt said, defiantly, “Your last
chance.”
Mallow stubbed out his cigar and
never looked up.
And five minutes later, Jael
stirred and said, wearily, “Well,
now that you’ve made a martyr for
the cause, what next?”
Mallow stopped playing with the
ash tray and looked up, “That’s not
the Sutt I used to know. He’s a
blood-blind bull. Galaxy, he hates
me.”
“All the more dangerous then.”
“More dangerous? Nonsense!
He’s lost all power of judgment.”
Jael said grimly, “You’re over-
confident, Mallow. You’re ignor-
ing the possibility of a popular re-
bellion.”
Mallow looked up, grim in his
turn, “Once and for all, Jael, there
is no possibility of a popular re-
bellion.”
“You’re sure of yourself !”
“I’m sure of the Seldon crisis
and the historical validity of their
solutions, externally and internally.
There are some things I didn’t tell
Sutt right now. He tried to con-
trol the Foundation itself by re-
ligious forces as he controlled the
outer worlds, and he failed — which
is the surest sign that in the Sel-
don scheme, religion is played out.
“Economic control worked dif-
ferently. And, to paraphrase that
famous Salvor Hardin quotation of
yours, it’s a poor atom blaster that
won’t point both ways. If Korell
prospered with our trade, so did we.
If Korellian factories fail without
our trade; and if the prosperity of
outer worlds vanishes with com-
mercial isolation; so will our fac-
tories fail and our prosperity van-
ish.
“And there isn’t factory, not a
trading center, not a shipping line
that isn’t under my control.
“So by the same reasoning which
makes me sure that the Korellians
will revolt in favor of prosperity, I
am sure we will not revolt against
it. The game will be played out to
its end.”
“So then,” said Jael, “you’re es-
tablishing a plutocracy. You’re
making us a land of traders and
money barons. Then what of the
future.”
Mallow lifted his gloomy face,
and exclaimed fiercely, “What busi-
ness of mine is the future? No
doubt Seldon has foreseen it and
prepared against it. There will be
other crises in the time to come.
Let my successors solve those, as I
have solved this.”
“And after three years of War
which was no War, the Korellian
Republic surrendered uncondition-
ally — ”
(“Essays on History,” Ligurn Vier)
THE END.
£4
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Juggernaut
by A. E. VAN VOGT
From nowhere at all the little bar of metal came — a special , very,
very super steel. Made wonderful weapons. But there was, they
■realized much too late, a catch to i
Illustrated
The man — his name was Pete
Creighton, though that doesn’t mat-
ter— saw the movement out of the
corner of his eye, as he sat reading
his evening paper.
A hand reached out of the noth-
ingness of the thin air about two
feet above the rug. It seemed to
It. It spread — and it was too good 1 .
by Kramer
grope, then drew back into noth-
ingness. Almost instantly it reap-
peared, this time holding a small,
dully glinting metal bar. The fin-
gers let go of the bar, and drew out
of sight, even as the metal thing
started to fall towards the floor.
THUD l The sound was vibrant.
os
JUGGERNAUT
It shook the room.
Creighton sat jerkily up in his
chair, and lowered his paper. Then
he remembered what he had seen.
Automatically, his mind rejected
the memory. But the fantastic idea
of it brought him mentally further
into the room.
He found himself staring at an
ingot of iron about a foot long and
two inches square. That was all.
It lay there on the rug, defying his
reason.
"Cripes!” said Creighton.
Ilis wife, a sad-faced woman,
came out of the kitchen. She stared
at him gloomily • "What’s the mat-
ter now?” she intoned.
"That iron bar!” Her husband,
half-choked, pointed. "Who threw
that in here?”
"Bar?” The woman looked at
the ingot in surprise. Her face
cleared. "Johnny must have brought
it in from the outside.”
She paused, frowned again ; then
added: "Why all the fuss about a
piece of scrap iron?”
"It fell,” Creighton babbled. "I
saw it out of the corner of my eye.
A hand dropped it right out of
the — ”
He stopped. Realization came of
what he was saying. He swallowed
hard. His eyes widened. He bent
sideways iti his chair, and grabbed
convulsively for the metal bar.
It came up in his strong fingers.
It was quite heavy. Its weight and
its drab appearance dimmed his de-
sire to examine it thoroughly. It
was a solid ingot of iron, nothing
more, nor less. His wife’s tired
voice came again:
86
"Johnny must have stood it up
on one end, and it fell over.”
"Huh-uhl” said her husband.
He found himself anxious to ac-
cept the explanation. The curious
sense of alien things faded before
the normalness of it. He must have
been daydreaming. He must have
been crazy.
He put the bar down on the floor.
"Give it to the next scrap drive!”
he said gruffly.
Hour after hour, the Vulcan
Steel & Iron Works roared and
yammered at the undefended skies.
The din was an unceasing dirge,
lustily and horrendously sounding
the doom of the Axis. It was a
world of bedlam; and not even an
accident could stop that over-all bel-
lowing of inetal being smashed and
tormented into new shapes.
The accident added a minor
clamor to the dominating theme of
stupendous sound. There was a
screech from a cold roller machine,
than a thumping and a sound of
metal tearing.
One of the met) operating the
machine emitted some fanciful ver-
bal sounds, and frantically manipu-
lated the controls. The thumping
and the tearing ceased. An as-
sistant foreman came over.
"What’s wrong, Bill?”
"That bar!” muttered Bill. "I
was just starting to round it, and it
bent one of the rollers.”
" That bar!” echoed the assistant
foreman incredulously.
He stared at the little thing. It
was a big bar to be going through
a roller. But compared to the siz-
ARTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION
able steel extrusions and moldings
turned out by the Vulcan works, it
was tiny.
It was six feet long, and it had
originally been two inches square.
About half of its length had been
rolled once. At the point where the
strength of the rollers had been
bested, the metal of the bar looked
exactly the same as that which had
gone before. Except that it bad
refused to round.
The assistant foreman splut-
tered, and then fell back on a tech-
nicality. “I thought it was under-
stood," he said, “that in the Vulcan
plants nothing over an inch and a
half is rounded by rollers.”
“I have had dozens of ’em,” said
Bill. He added doggedly ; “When
they come, I do ’em.”
There was nothing to do but ac-
cept the reality. Other firms, the
assistant foreman knew, made a
common practise of rolling two
inchers. He said :
“O. K., take your helper and
report to Mr. Johnson. I’ll have
a new roller put in here. The bent
one and that bar go to the scrap
heap.”
He could not refrain from add-
*7
JUGGERNAUT
ing : “Hereafter send two-inch
liars to the hammers.”
The bar obediently went through
the furnace again. A dozen things
could have happened to it. It could
have formed part of a large mold-
ing. It could have, along with other
metal, endured an attempt to ham-
mer it into sheer steel.
It would have been discovered
then, its basic shape and hardness
exposed.
But the wheels of chance spun —
and up went a mechanical hammer,
and down onto the long, narrow,
extruded shape of which the
original ingot was a part.
The hammer was set for one and
one quarter inches, and it clanged
with a curiously solid sound. It
was a sound not unfamiliar to the
attendant, but one which oughtn’t
to be coming from the pummeling
of white-hot metal.
It was his helper, however, who
saw the dents in the base of the
hammer. lie uttered a cry, and
pulled out the clutch. The older
man jerked the bar clear, and stared
at the havoc it had wrought.
"Yumpin’ yimminy!” he said.
“Hey, Mr. Yenkins, come over
here, and look at this.”
Jenkins was a big, chubby man
who had contributed fourteen ideas
for labor-saving devices before and
since lie was made foreman. The
significance of what he saw now
was not lost on him.
“Ernie’s sick today,” he said.
“Take over his drill for a couple
of hours, you two, while I look into
this.”
61
He phoned the engineering de-
partment; and after ten minutes
Boothby came down, and examined
the hammer.
He was a lean-built, precise
young man of thirty-five. On duty
he wore horned-rimmed glasses, be-
hind which gleamed a pair of bright-
blue eyes. He was a craftsman, a
regular hound for precision work.
He measured the dents. They
were a solid two inches wide: and
the hammer and its base shared the
depth equally.
In both, the two-inch wide, one-
foot long gouge was exactly three
eighths of an inch deep, a total for
the two of three quarters of an inch.
"Hm-m-rn,” said Boothby, “what
have we got here ... a super-super
hard alloy, accidentally achieved?”
“My mind jumped that way,”
said Mr. Jenkins modestly. “My
name is Jenkins. Wilfred Jenkins.”
Boothby grinned inwardly. He
recognized that he was being told
very quietly to whom the credit be-
longed for any possible discovery.
He couldn’t help his reaction. lie
said:
“Who was on this machine?”
Jenkins’ heavy face looked un-
happy. He hesitated.
“Some Swede,” he said reluc-
tantly. “I forget his name.’’
“Find it out,” said Boothby. “His
prompt action in calling you is very
important. Now, let's see if we can
trace this bar back to its source.”
He saw that Jenkins was happy
again. “I’ve already done that,”
the foreman said. “It came out of
a pot, all the metal of which was
derived from shop scrap. Beyond
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION
that, of course, it’s untraceable.”
Boothby found himself appre-
ciating Jenkins a little more. It al-
ways made him fed good to sec a
man on his mental toes.
He had formed a habit of giving
praise when it was deserved. He
gave it now, briefly, then finished:
“Find out if any other depart-
ment has recently run up against a
very hard metal. No, wait. I’ll do
that. You have this bar sent right
up to the metallurgical lab.’’
“Sent up hot?” asked Jenkins.
“Now!” said Boothby, “whatever
its condition. “I’ll ring up Nad-
derly . . . cr, Mr. Nadderly, and tell
him to expect it”
He was about to add : “And see
that your men don’t make a mis-
take, and ship the wrong one.”
He didn’t add it. There was a
look on Jenkins' face, an unmis-
takable look. It was the look of a
man who strongly suspected that he
was about to win his fifteenth bonus
in two and a half years.
There would be no mistake.
A steel bar 2"x2"xl2" — tossed
out of hyper-space into the living
room of one, Pete Creighton, who
didn’t matter —
None of the individuals mattered.
They were but pawns reacting ac-
cording to a pattern, from which
they could vary only if some im-
possible change took place in their
characters. Impossible because
they would have had to become
either more or less than human.
When a machine in a factory
breaks down, its operator naturally
has to call attention to the fact. All
JUGGERNAUT
the rest followed automatically out
of the very nature of things. An
alert foreman, and alert engineer,
a skillful metallurgist; these were
normal Americans, normal English-
men, normal — Germans !
No, the individuals mattered not.
There was only the steel ingot,
forming now a part of a long, nar-
row bar.
On the thirtieth day, Boothby ad-
dressed the monthly meeting of the
Vulcan’s board of directors. He
was first on the agenda, so he had
had to hustle. But he was in a
high good humor as he began:
“As you all know, obtaining in-
formation from a metallurgist” —
he paused and grinned inoffensively
at Nadderly, whom he had invited
down — “is like obtaining blood
from a turnip. Mr. Nadderly em-
bodies in bis character and hip
science all the caution of a Scotch-
man who realizes that it’s time he
set up the drinks for everybody, but
who is waiting for some of the gang
to depart.
“I might as well warn you, gen-
tlemen, that he is fully aware that
any statement he has made on this
metal might be used against? him.
One of his objections is that thirty
days is a very brief period in the
life of an alloy. There is an
aluminum alloy, for instance, that
requires forty days to age harden.
“Mr. Nadderly wishes that
stressed because the original hard
alloy, which seems to have been a
bar of about two inches square by
a foot long, has in fifteen days im-
parted its hardness to the rest of
the bar, of which it is a part.
69
"Gentlemen” — he looked ear-
nestly over the faces — "the hard-
ness of this metal cannot be stated
or estimated. It is not just so many
times liarder than chromium or
molybdenum steel. It is hard be-
yond all calculation.
"Once hardened, it cannot be
machined, not even by tools made
of itself. It won’t grind. Dia-
monds do not even scratch it. Can-
non shells neither dent it nor
scratch it. Chemicals have no ef-
fect. No heat we have been able to
inflict on it has any softening ef-
fect.
"Two pieces welded together —
other metal attaches to it readily— s
impart the hardness to the welding.
Apparently, any metal once hard-
ened by contact with the hard metal,
will impart the hardness to any
metal with which it in turn conics
into contact.
“The process is cumulative and
endless, though, as I have said, it
seems to require fifteen days. It is
during this fortnight that the metal
can be worked.
“Mr. Naddcrly thinks that the
hardness derives from atomic, not
molecular processes, and that the
impulse of liarduess is imparted
much as radium will affect metals
with which it is placed in contact.
It seems to be harmless, unlike
radium, but — ”
Boothby paused. He ran his gaze
along the line of intent faces, down
one side of the board table and
up the other.
“The problem is this: Can we
A8TOGND1NG SCIENCE-FICTION
after only thirty days, long before
vve can be sure we know all its
reactions, throw this metal into the
balance against the Axis?”
Boothby sat down. No one
seemed to have expected such an
abrupt ending, and it was nearly a
minute before the chairman of the
board cleared his throat and said:
“I have a telegram here from the
Del-Air Corporation, which puz-
zled me when I received it last
night, but which seems more under-
standable in the light of what Mr.
Boothby lias told us. The telegram
is from the president of Del-Air.
I will read it, if you please.”
He read :
“ f We have received from the
United States Air Command, Eu-
ropean Theater, an enthusiastic ac-
count of some new engines which
we dispatched overseas some thir-
teen days ago by air. Though re-
peatedly struck by cannon shells,
the cylinder blocks of these engines
sustained no damage, and continued
in operation. These cylinders were
bored from steel blocks sent from
your plant twenty days ago. Please
continue to send us this marvelous
steel, which you have developed,
and congratulations.’ ”
The chairman looked up. “Well ?”
be said.
“But it’s not prbbable,” Boothby
protested. “None of the alloy has
been sent out. It’s up in the metal-
lurgical lab right now.”
He stopped, his eyes widening.
“Gentlemen,” he breathed, “is it
possible that any metal, which has
been in contact with the super-hard
JUGGERNAUT
steel for however brief a period,
goes through the process of age-
hardening? I aui thinking of the
fact that the original ingot has twice
at least been through an arc fur-
nace, and that it has touched various
other machines.”
He stopped again, went on
shakily: “If that is so, then our
problem answers itself. We have
been sending out super-steel.”
He finished quietly, but jubi-
lantly: “We can, therefore, only
accept the miracle, and try to see
to it that no super-tanks or super-
machines fall into the hands of our
enemies.”
After thirty days, the metal im-
pulse was flowing like a streak. In
thirty more days it had crossed the
continent and the oceans myriad
times.
What happens when every tool
in a factory is turning out two hun-
dred and ten thousand different
parts, every tool is sharing with its
product the gentle impulse of an
atomically generated force? And
when a thousand, ten thousand fac-
tories are affected.
That's what happened.
Limitless were the potentialities
of that spread, yet there was a de-
gree of confinement. The area be-
tween the battle forces in Europe
was like an uncrossable moat.
The Germans retreated too
steadily. It was the Allies who
salvaged abandoned Nazi trucks
and tanks, not the other way
around. Bombing of cities had
stopped. There were no cities.
The gigantic air fleets roared over
si
the German lines, and shed their
bombs like clouds of locusts. By
the time anything was touched by
the atomic flow, the battle line had
advanced a mile or more; and the
Allies had the affected area.
Besides, far more than ninety
percent of the bombs were from
storerooms in that mighty muni-
tions dump which was England.
For years the millions of tons of
materiel had been piling up under-
ground. It was brought up only
when needed, and almost immedi-
ately and irretrievably exploded.
The few affected bombs didn’t
shatter. But no one, no German
had time to dig them out of the
ground.
Day after day after day, the im-
pulse in the metal crept along the
battle front, but couldn’t cross over.
During those first two months,
the Vulcan office staff was busy.
There were vital things to do. Every
customer had to lie advised that the
metal must be “worked” within a
certain set time. Before that paper
job was completed, the first com-
plaints had started to come in.
Boothby only grinned when he
read them. “Metal too hard, break-
ing our tools — ” That was the gist.
“They'll learn,” he told the third
board meeting he attended. “I think
we should concentrate our attention
on the praises of the army and navy.
After all, we are now as never be-
fore, working hand-and-glove with
the government. Some of these
battle- front reports are almost too
good to be true. I like particularly
the frequent use of the word ‘ir-
resistible.’ ”
43
It was two days after that that
his mind, settling slowly to nor-
malcy from the excitement of the
previous ten weeks, gave birth to a
thought. It was not a complete
thought, not final. It was a doubt
that brought a tiny bead of perspira-
tion out on his brow, and it
prompted him to sit down, a very
shaken young man, and draw a
diagrammatic tree.
The tree began with a line that
pointed at the word “Vulcan.” It
branched out to “Factories,” then
to other factories. It branched
again, and again and again, and
again and again and again.
It raced along railway tracks.
It bridged the seas in ships and
planes. It moved along fences and
into mines. It ceased to have a
beginning and an end. There was
no end.
There was no color in Boothby’s
face now. His eyes behind their
owlish spectacles had a glazed look.
Like an old man, he swayed up
finally from his chair, and, hatless,
wandered out into the afternoon,
lie found his way home like a sick
dog, and headed straight for his
workroom.
He wrote letters to Naddcrly, to
the chairman of the board of Vul-
can, and to the chief army and navy
agent attached to the enormous steel
and iron works. He staggered to
the nearest mailbox with the let-
ters, then returned to his work
room, and headed straight for the
drawer where he kept his revolver.
The bullet splashed his brain out
over the floor.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Ogden Tait, chairman of the
board, had just finished reading the
letter from Boothby when the
urgent call came for him to come
to the smelter.
The letter and the call arriving
so close upon one another confused
him concerning the contents of the
letter. Something about —
Startled, he hurried down to an-
swer the urgent call An array of
plant engineers were there, waiting
for him. They had cleared all
workmen away from one of the
electric arc furnaces. An executive
engineer explained the disaster.
Fumbling Boothby’s letter, alter-
nately stunned and dismayed, the
chairman listened to the chilling
account.
“But it’s impossible,” he gasped
finally. “How could the ore arrive
here super-hard? It came straight
by lake boat from the ore piles at
Iron Mountain.”
None of the engineers was look-
ing at him. And in the gathering
silence, the first glimmer of under-
standing of what was here began to
come to Ogden Tait. He remem-
bered some of the phrases from
Boothby's letter: “. . . two million
tons of steel and iron sent out in
two and one half months . . . spread
everywhere ... no limit — ”
His brain began to sway on its
base, as the landslide of possibilities
unreeled before it. New tracking,
Boothby liad mentioned, for the in-
terior of the mines. Or new ore
cars, or new —
Not only new. Newness didn't
matter. Contact was enough; sim-
ple, momentary contact. The letter
had gone on to say that —
In a blank dismay, he brought it
up in his shaking fingers. When
he had re-read it, he looked up
dully.
“Just what,” lie said vaguely, “in
as few words as possible, will this
mean?”
The executive engineer said in a
level voice:
“It means that in a few weeks
not a steel or iron plant in the
United Nations will be in operation.
This is Juggernaut with a capital
Hell.”
It is the people who are not
acquainted with all the facts who
are extremists. In this group will
he found the defeatists of 1940 and
JUGGERNAUT
the super optimists of 1943. Care-
less of logistics, indifferent to real-
ities partially concealed for military
reasons, they blunt their reasons
and madden their minds with posi-
tivities.
In this group were Boothby and
the engineers of the Vulcan Steel &
Iron Works; and, until he arrived
in Washington, the day after send-
ing a dozen terrified telegrams, in
this group also was Ogden Tait,
chairman of the Vulcan board.
llis first amazement came when
the members of the war-planning
board greeted him cheerfully.
“The important thing,” said the
Great Man, who was chairman of
that board, “is that there be no
morale slump. I suggest that all
the iron ore and metal that is still
workable be turned into peace-time
machinery, particularly machinery
for farm use, which must be heavy
as well as strong. There will al-
ways be a certain amount of unaf-
fected ore and scrap ; and, since any
machinery, once completed, will en-
dure forever, it should not take long
to supply all the more essential
needs of the nation.”
“But — but — but — ” stammered
Ogden Tait. “The w-warl”
He saw, bewildered, that the men
were smiling easily. A member
glanced at the Great Man.
“May I tell him?”
He was given permission. He
turned to Ogden Tait.
“We have generously,” he said,
“decided to share our secret and
wonderful metal with the Axis.
Even now our planes are hovering
THE
over German and Japanese mines,
ore piles, factories, dropping
chunks of super-hard steel.”
Ogden Tait waited. For the first
time in his long, comfortable life,
he had the feeling that he was not
being very bright. It was a radical
thought.
The member was continuing : “In
a few months, what remains of the
Axis steel industry, after our past
bombings, will suspend operations.”
He paused, smiling.
“But,” Ogden Tait pointed out,
“they’ll have had three months pro-
duction while we — ”
“Let them have their three
months,” the member said calmly.
“Let them have six months, a year.
What do you think we’ve been do-
ing this last few years? You bet
we have. We’ve been building up
supplies. Mountains, oceans, con-
tinents of supplies. We’ve got
enough on hand to fight two years
of continuous battle.
“The Germans, on the other
hand, cannot get along for a single
month without fresh munitions.
“The war is accordingly won.”
The Great Man interjected at
that point: “Whatever prank of
fate wished this Juggernaut upon
us has also solved the peace for-
ever. If you will think about it for
a moment, you will realize that,
without steel, there can be no
war — ”
Whatever prank of fate! ... A
hand reaching out of nothingness
into Pete Creighton’s living room
. . . deliberately dropping an ingot
of steel.
END.
U
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Renaissance
by RAYMOND F. JONES
Second of three parts. The most difficult of all lessons
is learning that there are, and , in any human world, must
he grays between the black of evil and the white of good.
That the refugee from Kronweld had yet to learn.
Illustrated by Orbait
In the world of Kronweld. Ketan
is a rebel. II c will not admit the
right of the Seekers’ Council to
prevent him or any Seeker investi-
gating the Mystery of the origin
of life, the Mysteries of the seldom
seen stars or of the great Edge. All
human life in Kronweld comes into
existence mysteriously -within the
walls of the forbidden Temple of
Birth. Ketan insists that the secrets
of the Temple be revealed and en-
gages in forbidden research to dis-
cover those secrets.
lie is employed as a technician at
the Karildex, a vast machine that
integrates the mind and will of the
inhabitants of Kronweld into a sin-
gle unit, a single mind that reflects
their mass decision in any given
matter. It is the law of Kronweld.
From the Karildex Ketan learns
65
RENAISSANCE
that investigation into the so-called
Sacred Mysteries is against the will
of Kronweld, but he asserts that the
integration is based on the false
knowledge of the people, upon their
superstitions and prejudices of cen-
turies .
Employing animals and plants
from the barren Dark Land beyond
the city, Ketan has discovered the
principles of animal and plant re-
production and suspects there may
be similarities in human reproduc-
tion. He demands a hearing to
present these facts before the Seek-
ers' Council and is condemned for
his blasphemy.
The night before the hearing he
is accosted in the hall of the Karil-
<lex by an old woman named Matra
who zvarns him of imminent danger
to Kronweld from a source she
calls the Statists. To aid in avert-
ing disaster, she orders Ketan to
slay Hoult, leader of the Council ;
Daran, a renowned teacher; and
Ella, Ketan’s companion to be.
Matra says these are of the Statists,
and disappears. Ketan confronts
Elta with this information, but she
is evasive and refuses direct anszver.
After his condemnation, Ketan
contrives an escape with Elta to
Dark Land through the aid of a
sympathetic guard, V arano, but
whet i he is ready to leave, Ketan dis-
covers Elta has gone to the Temple
of Birth to become one of the
Ladies of the Temple.
He puts Varano in suspended
animation and dons female guise by
means of which he gains entrance
to the Temple. There he finds that
the old zvontan, Matra, is in charge
60
of the Temple and that Elta has
came with some secret purpose of
her own which she refuses to di-
vulge to him.
In the Chamber of Birth Ketan
discovers that human life is not
bom as he thought but is created
in the midst of flaming fires that
burst forth at irregular intervals in
a niche lying against the great
Edge, the infinite, inert wall that
bounds Kronweld.
After the first shock of discov-
ery, Ketan discounts what he has
seen and believes that even this is
not the actual moment of creation.
On a second occasion Ketan is alone
with Elta in the Chamber and gets
a glimpse of a vast concourse of
people seen momentarily through
the flames that rise up in the niche.
He determines that he will stand in
those flames next time they form.
Elta gives him desperate warning
to stay azvay from them.
There is schism in the Temple
group between Matra and a younger
subordinate named Anetel zvho is
trying to zvin the allegiance of the
Ladies. Ketan does not concern
himself with this until Elta attempts
to kill Anetel for some unknozvn
reason. The same night Matra
calls Ketan to her as she is dying
from poison administered by Anetel
and gives him instructions to flee
zvith Elta in tvhorn Matra has seen
a change that brings the old
zooman's approbation.
The attempted escape is antici-
pated by Anetel, now in control,
zvho condemns Ketan to go through
the flames in the Chamber.
At numerous times in his life
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Ketan has been plagued by a strange
vision of a massive, lone pinnacle
of rock in a barren desert. With
maddening reality, the pinnacle
seems to draw him tozvards it. But
he has no indication of its location
or even of its actual existence.
As Ketan enters the flames in the
Chamber he seems to sec again that
pinnacle and realise that he must
somehow reach it if he is to save
Kronweld from the impending dis-
aster of which Matra spoke. And
the conviction conies to him that he
is on his way to the pinnacle.
XV.
Awakening came like a birth, like
that other birth Ketan had known
eons ago when he first came into
the sunlight out of the golden doors
of the Temple. As then, the sun
was now blinding his eyes and the
physical reality of the world at-
tacked him with a thousand spears.
lie shut his eyes against the im-
pact of the blue sky and the globe
that rode high upon it. But the
whispering of the wind was thun-
der in his ears. The breath of it
was like ice laid across his face,
and the rough ground on which he
lay tortured the sensitiveness of his
flesh.
He opened his eyes cautiously.
Whatever nameless existence this
might be it was surely not life, nor
was this realm Kronweld. He was
quite sure that it was not life, yet
was there perception in death?
He lay back again and closed his
eyes. When he opened them once
more, the light in the sky was less
and the wind was colder. There
was another sound that had im-
pinged upon his senses during the
endless era he had lain there, but
only now did he understand it.
Once before, in Dark Land, he had
heard such a sound, the rushing of
a mighty stream of water, such as
was never known in Kronweld.
Slowly he raised upon his arms
and felt the dullness slipping from
his mind like a drawn curtain. He
was aware of himself, of his own
identity once more. Gradually it
came back, that last fantastic dream
of thundering down eons and across
infinity. But it was no dream. His
mind jerked back to the reality of
the Chamber of Birth.
Elta.
He remembered she was coining
with him to — wherever he was. But
she had not been* at the watcher’s
seat as she had promised. She had
been caught, perhaps slain, for her
attack on Anetel.
Uselessness and futility took hold
of him as it had done before when
Elta had gone to Preparation Cen-
ter and he had thought her lost.
Only this time there was no way
back for him. No way back to
Kronweld. No way back to Elta.
The ecstasy of attainment of his
goal of passing through the great
Edge was lost and dimmed by his
overwhelming loneliness.
He turned slowly and sat upright.
He was in the midst of - a forest.
There was no sign of house or struc-
ture or life. There was no sign of
the vast concourse of pleading faces
he had seen through the gateway in
the Edge. There was no sign of the
RENAISSANCE
AST— 3K 67
great Edge itself, nor yet of the
desert and the pinnacle.
Never had he seen such a forest
as this. Trees there were in Dark
land, but in the dark and cold, and
under the smoke hidden skies they
were small and feeble tilings. The
towering columns above and about
him now were terrifying as he
looked up between them and
watched their far tips sway against
the sky. A sense of vertigo spun
his vision.
He wondered where he was. It
was an utterly meaningless ques-
tion. He was in a special, self-cen-
tered, self-created world where he
alone would live and die. He
wanted to lie back down, but his
tortured senses protested further
contemplation. He rose and began
walking to drive the wonder and
terror out of his. mind. Driving his
feet onward, stepping over stones
and branches and guiding his way
through the trees reduced his tor-
tured self-questioning.
He found himself descending a
slope and the sound of flowing wa-
ter became louder. In a moment he
could see the stream. He stared in
fascination. It was a thing of clear
beauty. No man of Kronweld had
ever before seen such a thing. Wa-
ter there came only from stagnant,
hot pools and had to be artificially
cooled. When he advanced and
touched his hand in this stream, it
was icy.
He drank deeply and resumed his
slow picking of a pathway along
the bank. He was increasingly con-
scious of hunger. He wondered if
there were Bors or other beasts
here as in Dark Land that might be
eaten, but he had no weapons.
After a time, the forest began to
recede and widen, more sandy
beaches lined each side of the
stream before they sloped sharply
to rocky crags above him.
The sky grew darker as he went
down the widening shore. There
was no purpose in his mind, only
to keep driving his feet and keep
his mind from asking questions.
There came a sound that must
have been repeated a dozen times
before his reluctant senses an-
swered. He stopped and listened.
It was a whimpering, crying sound
that became a sudden shrill scream.
He thought of the Place of Dying
in Kronweld where the injured atid
sick who refused self-death were
taken. He had been told that such
sounds were heard in the Place.
He hurried his steps. And then
he heard a faint rustling in the sand
behind him. He turned just in time
to see a dirty, ragged creature leap
with madness in his eyes. Then a
thick arm closed about Ketan’s
throat and crushed until blackness
spattered his vision.
Ketan did not know when the life
crushing force was released. He
was only aware of returning light
to his vision and the dim, far away
sound of the stream.
And there was another sound, a
heavy, incredulous muttering flowed
to his ears.
He struggled to a sitting position.
The man who had attacked was
sitting up on the ground before
Ketan. He stared amazement.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Then Ketan realized the man was
deceived by his woman’s disguise.
The man was thick and dark with
hairy arms and chest exposed by
ragged garments. His face was
black with matted beard, but his
haggard eyes were young and
sharpness still gleamed from them.
They stared at Ketan as if to pierce
him from beneath their deep cavi-
ties that undercut a long, high fore-
head.
Behind him, Ketan closed his
hand on a sharp rock that lay be-
side the stream. The man opened
his mouth in unintelligible mutter-
ings again, and Ketan moved.
His arm whipped around and
hurled the rock straight to the man’s
forehead. There was an instant of
surprised pain on the bearded face.
Then the man tumbled backwards
without a sound. Blood slowly
seeped out of the wound and made
pools of bis eyes and drained into
liis black beard.
Ketan was sick. The sight of
human blood flowing was more than
the ordinary Seeker of Kronweld
could endure. It was something to
bring terror and nausea to the
strongest of men.
He rose with a jerky, unnerved
motion and hurried away without a
backward glance. He was trem-
bling in every muscle.
Then there came that scream of
pain and terror once more.
He looked about wildly for its
source, but nothing was visible.
After a moment he became aware of
the smoky haze drifting upon the
air and noticed for the first time a
low, smoking fire on the beach
ahead near the hillside. A narrow
mouthed cavern was in the hill di-
rectly behind it.
Instinctively, he knew the cry had
come from that cave.
If this were a Place of Dying, he
wished to avoid it as widely as pos-
sible. Imbued all his life with a
horror of defective human mechan-
ism, and taught that the only
remedy for damage to a body was
death, Ketan shrank from the
source of those cries that shrilled
out upon the air.
Yet there were a group of Seek-
ers in Kronweld, and Ketan had
long sympathized with them, who
believed that it was inhuman and
unnecessary for a human being to
die or be killed for some small in-
jury. They believed that human
repair was possible.
He shrank back from the ap-
proach to the cave, but an inherent
compassion drew him on. The
sound was like that of a woman in
pain. He trudged through the light
sand towards the cave mouth.
In the dimness within the cavern
he could distinguish nothing. But
there was someone there. A voice
cried out as he stood in the open-
ing. He entered and stood still,
waiting for his eyes to accustom
themselves to the dim emission of a
light that came from a far corner.
He saw that it was a smoking wick
suspended in a dish of grease.
When he could see at last he sur-
veyed the cavern. Before him, on
a low piled bed of springy tree
branches was a woman -thrashing
about in pain. She was trying to
reach a bottle standing in a niche in
C9
RENAISSANCE
the far wall of the cavern. Ketan
reached for it and gave it to her.
She looked at him gratefully
from glazed eyes, not comprehend-
ing his strangeness. She kept cry-
ing out a single word as if calling
a name.
There was a piece of dirty rag in
her hand which she was moisten-
ing with the contents of a bottle.
Ketan recognized the pungent odor.
She put the rag to her nostrils,
breathing deeply.
I He saw then. She was taking
the self -death. He had no right to
be there. He rose to leave, but a
Seeking curiosity made him wonder
why she was there, who she was.
Where was the city and the home
she had come from?
She Had subsided now and the
clotli fell from her face. He bent
down to replace it so that she might
die qqickly. As he did so, he saw
that her half uncovered body was
horribly -swollen and distended. He
shrank back from the ghastly dis-
figurement. Never in Kronweld
had such a condition been known.
Dimly, a recollection and faint,
unbelievable comprehension came.
Once — once before he had seen
such a condition. The pores of his
skin opened and cold sweat oozed
through the plastic that covered him.
He had seen it once before.
The Bors.
He snatdied the soaked rag from
her face and peered closely. She
must not dib.
Her blreatH was coming hard and
slowly. Ketafi felt helpless and be-
wildered. The goal of all his Seek-
ing seemed wifhilt reach and there
TO
was nothing he knew to do.
lie looked up suddenly as the
opening of the cavern was darkened
by a wavering shadow that reeled
across it. It was made by the man
he had left for dead.
Perliaps he did not see Ketan at
first in the dimness of the cave for
his eyes were not upon him. He
staggered across the floor and
dropped beside the bed of piled
branches.
“Mary !” he cried the single word.
Then he saw Ketan across the
bed. He uttered a wild bellow of
rage and started to rise, but his
glance fell upon the bottle beside
Ketan and the cloth in his hand,
and went back to the woman.
Slowly, his face softened. A
smile of gratitude broke upon its
bleakness. He reached out a hand.
Hesitatingly, Ketan looked down at
it, then extended his own in half
understood response.
The questioning contemplation
rose in Ketan’s mind again. Who
were these two? And what land
was this? Perhaps it was beyond
Dark Land. No man had ever pene-
trated beyond those far borders.
There was only an impenetrable
morass of steaming, boiling swamps
where nightmare creations of life
swam and flew.
For a moment lie considered the
possibility that he had simply passed
through the Edge and had fallen
into the barren land spoken of by
Anetel. But there was no Edge
here, nor did this resemble the land
described by her fantastic explana-
tion of the Temple of Birth.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
He dismissed the problem. It
was trivial beside the momentous
occurrence before him. The climax
of his Seeking had come. The proof
of his heretical theory of life was at
hand.
The man across the bed stood up
suddenly and motioned Kctan out-
side. He followed. In the dim-
ming light of day the two stood ap-
praising each other in mutual won-
derment. All the while, the ragged,
bearded man looked nervously about
as if afraid of some unseen pursuer.
His tense anxiety transmitted itself
to Ketan .
He spoke a brief sentence that
sounded like a command, utterly
unintelligible to Retail. Yet some-
thing about it struck a weird chord
of familiarity. The intonation and
the uniting of many basic sounds
were the same as in his own lan-
guage. Still, the words had no
meaning to him.
Tn disgust, the weary, haggard
dweller of the cave saw that he
didn’t understand. He gave up and
threw an armful of wood on the
fire that was burning before the
mouth of the cave. Then he
brought out a bundle of stained
scraps of cloth and surveyed them
in dismay and resignation. He
took a short pole from the woodpile
and thrust the end into the fire un-
til it began to burn, then drew it
quickly out and stuck it upright in
the sand.
With a pair of smaller sticks he
lifted a rag and held it arm’s length
away from him over the fire. He
let it remain until it began to scorch.
Then he draped it on the charred
end of the upright pole.
He motioned Retan to do that
with the remainder of the rags.
Retan obeyed, wondering what was
the purpose of the mysterious char-
ring of the rags. Perhaps some
useless superstition to placate the
God. Such was not unknown in
Rronweld.
The other man dragged forward
a large pot which he erected on sup-
ports. With smaller containers, he
brought water from the stream, and
then built a huge fire beneath the pot
and watched impatiently as it slowly
heated and boiled.
As a final preparation he brought
out a sharp edged knife and held
it in the flames, then quickly
wrapped it in one of the scorched
rags. Lastly, he tied a cloth about
his face and washed his hands vio-
lently in water and sand and im-
mersed them for a long time in
painfully hot water and held them
over the flames. Drying, he wrapped
his hands in squares of the cloth.
All this he indicated to Retan to
imitate.
Low moanings and steadily in-
creasing cries that chilled Ketan
had been coming from the cavern.
The two hurried in.
The woman was moving about in
wild agony. The man uttered a
low, cursing sound from his throat
and drew her back to the center of
the bed. He moistened the cloth
further with the liquid in the bot-
tle and applied a touch of it to her
nostrils. He motioned Retan to
hold her arms and keep her pinned
down. Retail obeyed, hardly able
RENAISSANCE
71
to look upon her monstrous, dis-
torted form.
In a sickening wave of nausea
that rendered him half conscious,
he obeyed the motioned instructions
of the bearded man. But they were
few. He was working in a tight
frenzy of fear. It transmitted itself
to Ketan. He knew that something
was wrong, but not what it was.
He realized only a great fear and
terror that filled the small confines
of the cave and seemed to be draw-
ing his life out slowly with each
breath.
An eternity of time passed. The
woman shuddered beneath Ketan’s
hands, but it was becoming fainter.
Then the /man rose to his feet, hold-
ing a tiny, red animal form. He
spanked it smartly and held its
mouth to his and breathed long and
slowly.
A haze seemed to swirl about
Ketan and surged over him. His
life-long conditioning to revulsion
at biological manifestations had not
been even partially overcome by his
own unregistered investigations and
his experience with the Bors.
This was birth. This was the be-
ginning of life. Somewhere at
his own beginning, there had been
just such a scene. Somewhere
there might yet be the woman who
had contained him. What horror
it would be to meet her and know —
He understood the reaction of
the members of the First Group
when he had spoken of this thing.
Yet there was- another, unknown
feeling that tempered his revulsion.
In a world where all men knew how
TO
they were created, there could not
be universal ignorance of those by
whom they were given life. He
wondered fleetingly what kind of a
world that would be, what kind of
relationships would exist between
people in such a world.
He let his glance fall upon the
bearded man who held the tiny
human. There were only worry,
fear, and something Ketan could
not name registered on the man’s
face.
Ketan thought of Elta and shud-
dered.
He felt a sudden change in the
woman whose arms he held still
tightly upon the bough bed. She
jerked convulsively. Then she was
still. He looked at her quiet, dis-
torted face and felt for her breath-
ing and the beating of her heart.
Slow'ly, in fascinated horror, he
drew away. It was as if her flesh
had turned to some alien substance.
For the second time he had watched
a human being die. After a time-
less age a single thought swept
through his brain. It was of Elta.
Did a life always mean a death?
His glance went to the bearded
man who was standing like a stone
image, the red little form hanging
loosely in his arms.
They remained thus for an inde-
terminate time. There was no
sound but the faint, faraway bub-
bling of the stream and the occa-
sional crackling of the smoking
grease that gave them light.
The stillness was broken by the
sharp cry of anguish that came
from the tattered, bearded man. He
dropped . the still body from his
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
arms and sank beside the two life-
less figures, burying his head upon
the woman’s breast.
Ketan walked slowly from the
cavern to the glistening stream.
The globe was at the base of the
sky and shadows leaped out in long,
dark fingers from the tops of the
trees.
A freezing chill was in the air,
something almost unknown to
Ketan. But there was more that
made his body tremble. He had
seen death again.
And the newly created life —
what had become of it? There had
never been life there. Something
was horribly wrong. Surely such
things were not meant to be. The
creation of life could not mean such
terror and death as the woman had
suffered — and such sorrow as he
had felt welling out of the man.
There was a step behind him. He
turned upon the man. The dark
burning eyes stared out at him half
seeing, but the thick, shaggy arm
that beckoned was not to be with-
stood. Ketan followed him back
to the cave.
Inside, he indicated that Ketan
was to wrap the dead bodies with
the few rags and coverings that
were available. Somehow, Ketan
felt glad to be able to help him,
though he had no idea what purpose
lay behind this.
When he was finished, he went
out and found the man scooping a
deep hole in the sands. Wonder-
ing at its purpose, Ketan bent to
help. The glowing coals of the fire
gave the only light by the time they
were through. Treading heavily,
the man entered the cave and re-
turned slowly, bearing the tightly
wrapped forms of the woman and
the infant.
He lowered them tenderly into
the hole in the sand. With a soft,
windlike sound the sand was
brushed back over the bodies and
formed a low mound. And all was
stillness once more.
The second globe was rising,
now, Ketan saw. It was coming up
over the low hills from whence the
stream was flowing. But something
was wrong with it. It was a pale,
insignificant thing that spread only
a cold silvery light over the land-
scape. For the first time Ketan
felt a surge of fear. Tin’s un-
natural globe spoke of a universe
where Kronweld’s existence was a
mere fantasy,
He turned to the man. The lat-
ter was standing still, face con-
torted with utter bitterness, bathed
in the silver glow. With a shudder,
his body gathered into itself in a
contraction that seemed to swell
and shrink him at once. Every
muscle was drawn to the limit of
its power. He stood out, a fearful
silhouette of black and silver.
And one mighty fist was raised
in the night, testifying to the sud-
den burst of rage and berserk fury
that poured from his throat. Then
that fist came down and pressed
brutally against his face as his
shoulders hunched over that mound
in the sand.
He raised and sprang away. Be-
fore Retail's eyes could distinguish
the point of the shadowy forest at
which he headed, he was gone.
RENAISSANCE
73
Fear closed down upon Ketan.
The mad, meanirfgless drama he
had witnessed that afternoon
haunted reason from his mind. The
utterly foreign surroundings be-
spoke only nightmare creations, and
his body ached from its exertions
and lack of food.
Wearily, he spread the robe on
the hard sand and lay upon it, not
daring the ghosts that stood watch
in the cavern. The fire died and
he slept.
XVI.
In the nighttime ft came again —
the dream and the vision. But it
W
was like a waking vision and not a
dream of night and a tired mind-
It seemed to open before him and
around him slowly, as if in creation
while he watched. The ocean of
sand undulated and swirled and
became solid. Without being aware
of rising, he was upon his feet and
they were pumping endlessly
through the dragging sands.
He was closer to the pinnacle of
rock than he had ever been before.
It rose a hundred times his height
above the desert floor. Sheer walls
shot up on every side, but he knew
how to reach the top.
He drew nearer. The whining
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
sands rose to sting his face like
sparkling needles surging upon him
in air-borne waves. A low moan
spoke from all the desert as if it
were one mighty voice. The cloud
of sand increased and beat about
his head. It obscured his vision,
blinded, he slogged on. Then there
came again the voice — ;
“You must not fail, Lonely One.
All my world lies in your hands.
Come — ”
He awoke trembling with cold.
The sculptored plastic served well
to conserve body heat, but it and
the induction robes did not entirely
suffice for clothing.
He looked about for material to
build a fire, though he did not know
how he was going to make one with-
out a radioactive starter.
Then the smell of smoke and the
crackling of burning wood came
to him. He turned. Down at the
edge of the stream a fire was roar-
ing, and before it a man sat on his
haunches gnawing fiercely at a huge
chunk of meat. It was the bearded
man of the night before.
Ketan moved down the beach,
uncertain of how he would be met,
but his steps quickened as he felt
the radiapt heat of the fire.
He paused and looked at the man.
Indifferently, and with no expres-
sion upon his face, he offered Ketan
a slab of meat that had been roast-
ing over the flames. Gladly, Ketan
accepted it and squatted upon the
warm sand.
Partially satisfied, Ketan looked
at the remains of the carcass from
which they were eating. It was a
fairly large animal with a smooth,
brown hide and with forked horns
bearing many points upon its head.
It was not as large or as heavily
built as the Bors.
When Ketan turned back to him
the bearded man had finished eat-
ing, and his head was buried be-
tween his knees. He looked up as
Ketan stirred. A half dozen
strangely familiar words came
slowly from his lips.
Ketan thought he was being asked
who he was. He told the bearded
one, who seemed to listen atten-
tively. He seemed to evince a half
comprehension even as did Ketan
and their verbal exchange was be-
gun. Ketan decided there was yet
an advantage in his disguise and
kept his voice at falsetto pitch.
The man indicated his name as
William Douglas. To Ketan it
sounded as if it were two names,
but he accepted both since the man
indicated no preference for one
or the other.
The wound that Ketan had in-
flicted the day before was caked
with dry blood and swollen. After
the meal, William Douglas washed
the wound at the stream and then
went into the woods. He returned
with a few leaves that he chewed
and matted together and bound to
his head with a strip torn from his
clothing.
He poured water and sand over
the fire. Expertly, he cut the two
hind quarters from the carcass and
hoisted them on his shoulders.
Ketan suggested he carry some.
William Douglas looked at the fe-
male disguise questioningly, then
gave him a forequarter.
RENAISSANCE
75
They started down the beachway.
William Douglas did not look bade
towards the spot where the woman
and the little human were buried in
the sand.
There was no question in Retail's
mind about following the man.
There was nothing else to do. He
wanted to learn to speak with him,
to find out where he came from,
and where this strange, wild land
was.
Most of all, he wanted to as-
suage the loneliness that was like
hunger within him. Companion-
ship in this alien land was worth
life itself. His mind had shaken
off its shocked lethargy of the day
before somewhat, and he recog-
nized that this was certainly not
death, as he had fantastically pre-
sumed. Nor did the bridge of time
and space he had crossed lead to
any land in the world of Kronweld.
He had come through the Edge,
he was certain.
But where was the Edge? Why
was it not visible here?
And ever, his thoughts went back
to Elta. He must somehow find
a way back, hoping until all reason
for hope was gone that she might
yet be safe.
Hampered by the burden of the
meat and the inability to use sign
language helps, their attempts at
conversation went lamely for a
time, but Ketan began swiftly gain-
ing a vocabulary in the language
of William Douglas. It became ob-
vious that Ketan would do the
learning, rather than vice versa.
William Douglas told him they
7 «
were heading for a village of about
two hundred inhabitants and that
they should reach there by nightfall.
Ketan inquired about the globes
in the sky. He tried to indicate tliat
there should be two of nearly equal
brightness, hut it was impossible to
make the man understand that.
He pointed upward with the stub
of the hindquarter he carried.
“Sun,” he said. “Last night you
saw the moon.”
Ketan 's mind began to accept that
those were the only two globes
visible. But it floundered when he
tried to conceive them as different
globes from those he knew. He
gave it up to the ever growing list
of inexplicables.
There was a more burning quest
that his mind would not relinquish
and now he tried to describe it.
Half in words of William Douglas'
language, and half in his own, he
said, “I want to find a desert place
where there is only sand and a
great rock that reaches up”
Bending down, he drew a wide
circle in the sand and placed a sliver
of rock in its center, then he stood
up to indicate the horizon and the
great height of the rock above him.
William Douglas looked puzzled.
He pointed into the far distance
through the trees. “Desert,” he
said. “Sand.” But he indicated
the rock and shook his head.
They moved on and the day grew
late. It was almost dark in the
depths amid the trees. Earlier, Wil-
liam Douglas had kept a cautious
glance roving constantly about, but
now he marched straight on with-
ASTOCNDINO SCIENCE-FICTION
out glancing aside, as if whatever
danger he had once feared were
now removed.
Ketan despaired of finding the
pinnacle. If only there were some
indications where it was, something
more than the endless blowing sand.
Perhaps it had no counterpart in
reality at all. Perhaps it was only
the result of some early intense
stimulus that repeated the dream
when his mind was tense and
strained.
But he didn't believe that. He
believed, with no rational excuse
for doing so, that the pinnacle was
real, that somewhere it existed and
that he must find it or go mad. The
first time the vision had come, he
recalled, was the first night he spent
out of the Temple after his birth
into Kronweld. It had terrified
him, for he had not been asleep. lie
was sure of that. He had been
awake in a room with others, listen-
ing to one of the Teachers. Sud-
denly all his surroundings had
blanked out and he found himself
trudging through that desert seek-
ing that faraway pinnacle, which
was then on the horizon.
Each time, each of the eighteen
times, it had seemed closer, as if
he were slowly progressing in that
other existence towards his goal.
Sometimes he wondered if that were
the real world and all of ICronweld
was only his dream.
Night came swiftly in the forest,
but William Douglas did not slow
his pace. They had stopped at
midday for a rest and another meal
of the meat, but now they kept
going. They were near the village,
RENAISSANCE
William Douglas said.
Ketan wondered what would
happen when he got there. What
would he do? Would his life be-
come an endless quest for the pin-
nacle and the way back to Elta?
So intent was he upon his own
thoughts that he didn’t notice that
William Douglas had stopped until
he bumped into him. The. man had
topped a low rise and now stood
immobile, staring down. Ketan
came up and followed his silent
gaze with his own eyes.
Below them, in a tiny valley,
smoke rose in a slow, grayish mass
from a hundred dimly glowing fires.
It must have burned all day, Ketan
thought, and now was dying out.
From William Douglas’ throat
there came a low animal sound that
Ketan knew was not words, but it
conveyed unmistakably its world of
despair and anguish.
There was not a dwelling left
standing as they descended the hill
and walked among the smoking
ruins. They came to the center
and William Douglas dropped the
precious hindquarters of meat to
the ground. His shoulders ached
and burned from carrying the
burden throughout the day. Now
there was no need to carry it fur-
ther. Ketan understood he meant
it as a present for the villagers.
“What happened?” Ketan asked.
“Statists — hunter Statists — ”
The word was like a flame that
touched off a holocaust of recollec-
tions. Once — once, on that night
at the Karttdcx when Matra had
come to him and demanded use of
the master keyboard, she had said —
77
what was it? — “For more than a
hundred tara an organization has
existed in our midst — the final ob-
jective — is the destruction of Kron-
weld. They fear us and will de-
stroy us. They .are the Statists.”
Ketan remembered her words.
He could see her face as she had
stood trembling with a fear that
seemed to shake her withered form
like a dry branch in a cold, Dark
Land wind.
But she had- not told him who the
Statists were, only that strange
fantasy of a world surrounding
Kronweld, She had said that Elta
knew what to do, and he had not
been able to find what Elta knew.
“Who are the Statists?” Ketan
turned to William Douglas. His
voice was tense in restrained ex-
citement.
“The Statists?” William Douglas
let his hand drift out in a gesture
over the ruins. “They are those
who do this. Tyrants, madmen,
despoilers — how many words are
there in your language to describe
such? They are all of that and
more. They have ruined a world.”
Ketan didn’t comprehend. There
were no words in his language to
describe those who would create
such a ruin.
“Men?” he asked.
William Douglas’ face grimaced,
“They have the general form of
men.”
Ketan understood neither the tone
nor the words. Before he could
speak, William Douglas bent down
and picked up one of the fallen
hindguarters, “We'll have to go
on,” he said, dully. “There is an-
78
other village we can reach by mid-
night — if it still exists.”
The Statists — whatever the word
meant, it was a connection between
this world and Kronweld. It didn't
matter that it was a word spoken in
hatred and bitterness. It was a con-
nection, and hope surged within
Ketan. He would find what it
meant.
William Douglas seemed able to
pick his way unerringly in the dark.
Ketan stumbled and groped almost
blindly behind him. Once he stum-
bled and fell over an object that
lay across the path. As he rose, he
turned to see what it was, but Wil-
liam Douglas urged him on.
“Dead,” he said.
Then Ketan knew what that and
the other shapeless objects strewn
through the trees were. The vil-
lagers, the two hundred who had
lived here, were dead with their
village.
Ketan did not know how long it
was that he stumbled and groped
before William Douglas put out a
cautioning hand and brought him
to a standstill. For a moment he
couldn’t see why they had stopped.
He followed the direction of Wil-
liam Douglas' pointing finger with
his gaze, and glimpsed dimly in the
light of the feeble globe a movement
on the trail ahead of them.
There was a continuous, undulat-
ing line of motion there. His vision
resolved it into individuals, and he
saw more than a dozen figures.
William Douglas advanced cau-
tiously until they were only a score
of steps behind the figures. Then
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
he said, “It’s all right. They are
from the Village Brent.”
The figures turned with a fright-
ened start as William Douglas
hailed them. Then, recognizing
him, they burst upon him and their
voices were mournful in the night.
In a vocal exchange so rapid that
Ketan could catch only a fraction
of it, they told the story of the de-
struction of Village Brent.
There were eight men and six
women. Two of the latter carried
little ones. Some of them were
injured. A man’s arm dangled like
a horrible pendulum when he
moved. One of the woman had
hair so blood covered that it was
molded upon her head and about
her face. Surely they would be
taken to the Place of Dying. Ketan
thought. And then it occurred to
him . These people had no Place of
Dying. They fell and were buried
where they lay, even as back at the
cave.
But what, then, would happen to
these mangled ones?
Assuming leadership, William
Douglas took control and they con-
tinued their way. Left to himself,
Ketan tried to imagine the Statists,
who or what they were.
He failed to conceive men who
could wreak such destruction and
death as he had seen. In all the his-
tory of Kronweld no such event had
been witnessed — but this was not
the world of Kronweld.
Their common point was the
enemy. The Statists. Was it pos-
sible that the Statists planned such
destruction for Kronweld?
By midnight they came to the
next village. As they approached,
Ketan felt a rising apprehension in
the refugees. They came at last
to a turn in the trail that revealed
the village site. An audible gasp
and thankful cries came from the
band. The village was intact and
undamaged. (
Few impressions bore any logic
to Ketan as they came into the nar-
row streets and roused the villagers.
He saw that William Douglas was
recognized as art authority by all.'
Why or what position he held,'
Ketan did not find out. He was
shuffled among the refugees and
found himself led into a dingy
shelter, lighted by an oil-burning
lamp. There was a dirty bed of
hewn slabs against the far wall. 1
The coverings were animal skins
covered with a grayish white fluff.
An overfat, middle-aged woman
directed him into the room. He
got just a glimpse of her bedrag-
gled hair and tattered dress of
skins. The latter looked like the
hide of the animal they had eaten
that day. At least there were no
inhibitions among these people re-
garding the use of animals, Ketan
reflected.
Later, she brought in a bowl of
bitter liquid and a slab of hard
cooked meat. He ate a fraction of
it. Too weary for any further in-
vestigation or questioning of bis
surroundings, he slept.
As soon as he was awake the next
morning, William Douglas came to
see him. There was still a defer-
ence in the man’s manner because
of Ketan’s disguise and Ketan won-
I
79
RENAISSANCE
dered how best to get rid of it. Its
deterioration was giving him a
rather horrible appearance.
But he had no time to consider
that, now. With William Douglas
was another man, 'lean and almost
black with pigment Ketan recog-
nized as due to the rays of the
globe. He wondered that they did
not use day cloaks of some kind.
“This is John Edwards,” Wil-
liam Douglas said.
“John Edwards,” Ketan repeated.
The man parted his lips in a
welcoming grin of white teeth.
“Tell him where you want to go,”
said William Douglas. “The sand
and the rock.”
Ivetan’s whole being quivered.
Was this a man who could lead him
to the pinnacle? Eagerly, he de-
scribed the scene as he had to Wil-
liam Douglas.
The man looked puzzled and
spoke to William Douglas in words
that Ketan could not understand.
The newcomer looked thoughtful,
then he pointed out the door and far
beyond the forest and mentioned a
name. William Douglas nodded.
He turned to Ketan. “John Ed-
wards knows this country better
than anyone. He thinks he can lead
you to the place you describe. Will
you go with him?”
“Yes! Now?”
William Douglas shook his head.
“Not yet ; we must rest. It is a long
journey and there is much-you must
tell me. We must learn to speak
better. In a day or two we will go.”
“You will come with me?”
“Yes.”
Why he was so anxious for Wil-
liam Douglas to accompany him,
Ketan could not have said, except
that that first terrible moment of
awakening in the forest had been
dispelled by the man and in his
mind, Ketan still clung to him like
an anchor of sanity.
They sat down and motioned
Ketan to do likewise.
“We want to talk to you,” Wil-
liam Douglas said. He formed his
words slowly, groping for expres-
sion that he knew would be intelli-
gible. “Your coming is of great im-
portance to us. We have not told
the villagers that you are not one
of us. We want to know if you
have come to help us or if you have
escaped too, from some land that is
unknown to us. Do you know
where you are?”
Ketan shook his head. “There
should be two great globes, where
there is only one. There should be
the Great Edge, visible from any
part of the land.”
“The Great Edge? What is
that?” asked John Edwards.
“Wait,” said William Douglas.
“You are in a forest called Kyab.
We call the planet Earth. Does
that mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“Tell us about your world.”
He would rather have heard about
theirs, Ketan thought. But there
was some urgency about their man-
ner that invited his co-operation,
that they might understand each
other as quickly as possible. He
sensed a fleeting impression that
they had somehow half expected
him, that they could explain all the
80
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
mystery of his exodus from Kron-
weld.
"Kronweld is flat, shaped like a
half circle.” Ketan drew a dia-
gram in the dirt floor, "On one
side is the Great Edge. No man
knows what that is, except that it
is a curtain of blackness that reaches
beyond our limits to understand.
Encompassing Kronweld on the
circular portion is Fire Land. It is
a land of molten pools that explode
into the air, of burning ground and
hot gases that rise from it. Only
a few, including myself have ever
gone through it into the region be-
yond, which we call Dark Land
because the globes are never visible
there due to the smoke and ash that
blows from Fire Land. There is
animal and plant life there unknown
in Kronweld.”
"How many of there are you?”
Ketan didn’t comprehend at first.
When he did, he stopped. How
could he tell them? They had no
units in common.
William Douglas saw his hesita-
tion. He drew a square on the
ground with ten divisions on a side.
"Ten,” he said, indicating the side.
He pointed then to the square.
"One hundred.”
Ketan drew a square and indica-
ted a side. "One hundred,” he said.
"Ten thousand of them,” said
William Douglas slowly. "Surely
there must be more.” He looked at
Ketan questioningly. "Do any ever
come into Kronweld through the
Great Edge?”
"That’s the way all are born into
Kronweld ! Tell me : What do you
know of it?” Ketan demanded.'
This world must not be as alien as
lie believed. These men knew of
the Great Edge and the mystery
that was beyond the Temple of
Birth.
But William Douglas was shak-
ing his head. "We know nothing
of it for certain. It is only some-
thing that many of us have guessed
at for a long time without any basis
for our beliefs.
"In our world there is a law that
requires all the new born to be ex-
amined for criminal or destructive
traits. When these are found in a
baby it is destroyed. That is all.
There are some of us who do not
believe that those — at least not all
of them — who are supposed to be
destroyed are actually killed. We
have believed that they are sent —
somewhere ”
"Where ?”
William Douglas shook his head.
"Beyond . . . beyond the Great Edge
perhaps. To Kronweld?”
"But we of Kronweld are not
criminals, destroyers 1 Those are
the Statists, so you said,” protested
Ketan.
“It’s long and involved,” said
William Douglas. "We ourselves
do not know even where to look
for clues. All we know is that life
is something hardly better than
death among us. Let me tell you:
"I didn’t say what we are called,
did I? We are called the Illegiti-
mates. It means that we are those
who have no right to live. We are
those who have not been examined
by the Selector. Our parents and
theirs before them, refused to risk
81
RENAISSANCE
submitting their children and chance
seeing their lives snuffed out with-
out mercy.
“The law requires that all new
born be brought within one month
to the Selector. ‘I have seen only
the great central Selector in Danfer.
Others controlled by it are scattered
throughout the land. It is the most
terrible sight in the world. Hun-
dreds of parents come each day to
the building and place their babies
in the care of the machine. It is a
great, monstrous creation that fills
one end of a huge hall. The babies
are carried automatically through
the depths of it where every feature
and psychological attribute of their
minds is analyzed and charted.
“Most of them return from the
machine to the arms of their wait-
ing parents. Some of them never
emerge -from the machine.”
Those were the faces he had seen,
Kctan thought There was the vast
and crying multitude that had called
out to him*. He had seen the great
hall of the Selector.
“I saw the parents of such a baby
one day,” said William Douglas.
“They took their baby into the hall
with hundreds of others. I saw
them go into the receiving room and
wait. They were there all day,
and they sat watching others who
had come in after them receive
their babies and go away. Neither
the man or the woman said a word.
At night they got up and went out
— without their baby. They hadn’t
made a sound or spoken a word.
But l looked into their eyes as they
passed me. The sight of those eyes
82
will be with me until the end of my
life”
There was a silence which Ketan
broke at last. He liad to know
about that scene back in the cave.
He spoke softly to William Doug-
las.
“Your child — ”
After a long moment William
Douglas looked up. “Mary and I
were Illegitimates. Our parents
had been. Wc went back on a spe-
cial mission to try to find out some-
thing about the Statists. We bore
false brands, to simulate those
marked on every individual ex-
amined by the Selectors. I was a'
surgeon there and was appointed
once to see the Director himself,
the head of the Statists, but the ap-
pointment was suddenly canceled,
and I found out they were sus-
picious of us. They would have
killed us both if they had seized
us, but Mary was to have a child
soon, we had to go. We made it
to the Village Dornam and the night
wc arrived it was destroyed by a
casual Statist hunter who discov-
ered it. Mary and I had to flee.”
Though Ketan had never known
a relationship between himself and
another individual such as existed
between all these here, he could
sense the feeling that was within
William Douglas. Because of Elta
lie could understand the man’s emo-
tion towards his Mary. And dimly,
through the thick layer of condi-
tioning, he could sense the reaction
towards that new life that should
have existed and never had.
It was a world of terrible, in-
ASTOUNDINO SCIENCE- FICTION
comprehensible conflicts, this land
into which he had come. It was
like men fighting in the night, none
knowing who or what his opponent
was.
And yet Kronweld itself had been
just such as this. For untold tara
perhaps, conflict had raged beneath
the surface of Kronweld and he had
known nothing until those brief
days when he had plunged into the
maelstrom.
Somehow, lie felt sure that the
conflicts in the two worlds were re-
lated, yet he did not see how. Miss-
ing strands of information which
neither he nor the Illegitimates
seemed to possess must span the
gap-
“Why have you believed that
those who disappear are not dead ?"
Ketan asked. “Apart from what
I have told you, I mean.”
“They have always made us be-
lieve that the Selector culled out
the criminals, the destroyers, the
tyrants. But we have criminals
with us. And the Statists them-
selves surpass any tyranny that
existed in past ages, yet they came
into existence after the Selector
was in use.
“But more than that. There have
been times — few, to be sure, but
enough that their evidence cannot
be ignored — when those in the
Selector hall have seen, as if
through a gateway, other men
dressed in strange garb. You see,
those rejected by the Selector are
brought out to a sort of altar which
is visible to all except the parents
whose children are within the ma-
chine. These are prevented from
seeing the rejection of their own,
because it is such a terrible sight
that they would create a disturb-
ance.
“The rejects on the altarlikc sup-
port are surrounded by electrodes
that inclose them completely in a
ball of flame and when the flame
dies there is no trace of the infant.
“It is on this altar, between these
electrodes, when the fire is dying,
that men have been seen. And other
times, when no infant is on the altar
there comes a faint glow sometimes
and half ghostly figures are seen
between the electrodes. It is these
things that have made us believe
that — well, something besides death
occurs there."
“1 liavc seen such a light," said
Ketan. “I saw it in the Chamber of.
Birth in the Temple in Kronweld.
It lies next to the Great Edge and
when the gateway opens, there is a
great flame that seems to burn a
hole in the Edge itself. When it
dies, another infant has been born
in Kronweld.
"It must be the same thing. It
is too similar to be merely a coin-
cidental phenomenon."
“Perhaps. Many of us have
hoped for years for some such ex-
planation. The reason I first spoke
of the Statists to you is that those
men have been seen in the hall of
the Selector. I thought perhaps
you knew of us, we’re fighting the
Statists, too. But how is it that
you knew the word, yet nothing
about them?"
Ketan explained as briefly as pos-
sible what he knew of the inexplic-
KENAISSANCB
88
able events preceding his plunge
through the Great Edge. The two
Illegitimates listened with mixed
emotions of wonder and surprise,
but as he finished, William Douglas
nodded as though Jiis own convic-
tions were confirmed.
“The Statists are there. Why,
or what they intend to do, I don’t
know, but it seems pretty obvious
that Kronwekl possesses a science
that the Statists do not have. How
could that be? Why should the
Statists want the destruction of
Kronwekl if, as seems possible,
they have deliberately built it up.
Can you think of any explanations,
Ketan ?’’
“No. My only concern is to get
back. I’ve got to go back and see
what has happened to Elta.”
“If she is a Statist, perhaps she
is already here, among her own
people.”
“She couldn’t be! I’ve known
her — ”
“How long?”
“All my life.”
“Is she older than you? Did
she come through the Edge first?”
“A couple of tara. Perhaps
three of your years.”
“When did you actually meet her.
Was it long enough after your
.‘birth* so that she might not have
come through in the same manner
as you?”
“She is not one of the Statists!”
said Ketan.
The Illegitimates made no an-
swer. Ketan needed none. He was
thinking of Matra and her accusa-
tions at the Karildex. But even she
had become reconciled to Elta and
.8*
trusted her in the thing that she
wanted to do. But what was Elta’s
purpose. Who was Matra?
Ketan’s mind swirled with the
unanswered questions and their
thousand implications. He was
roused by the voice of William
Douglas, he was aware the man
must have been speaking for some
time.
“The thing we would like to know
is what this mysterious pinnacle
means. Plow did you know there
was such a tiling here? Why do
you desire so strongly to find it?”
Ketan wondered how he could
explain something to them that he
could not explain to himself. Care-
fully, picking each word from the
meager vocabulary he shared with
them, he told him of his dreams and
visions, and the voice that he had
heard. “It’s as if I were being
drawn .by some force located in the
pinnacle,” he said. “I can imagine
how that must sound to you, but it’s
true. # There’s something there,
something for me alone. There is
a power there, a power created by
man that is reaching out for me.
How it knows who or what or
where I am, I don’t know, but it’s
drawing me on. I almost believe
that if I should dose my eyes and
begin walking I would be drawn to
it, so strongly lias that sense of at-
traction been with me.”
Both the Illegitimates were silent.
William Douglas was looking into
the distance where John Edwards
said he thought the pinnacle might
be.
At last he turned. “I can’t find
a place for it in either your story
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
or ours. It seems to have no mean-
ing. I would be prepared not to be
dismayed if it turns out to be a fig-
ment of imagination. Some early
conditionings, perhaps, brings it
back, even though you do not re-
member seeing such a place when
you are not under a strain.”
“There is such a place,” said
John Edwards, with certainty. “If
it’s as you describe, I can take you
there. I’ve never been there, but
I've seen it from the Mesas. It’s
called ‘Valley of the Winds’ be-
cause of its perpetual sandstorms.
There is nothing hut rock and des-
ert. I don’t see what you expect to
find there.”
"It’s inside ” said Ketan.
“Inside?” William Douglas’ face
set in sudden decision. “We’ll go
tomorrow. Whatever is there, and
however you know of it, it may turn
out to be a key to the overthrow of
the Statists.”
“There is one other thing — ”
Ketan spoke in sudden confusion.
“What ?”
“I am not — exactly what I may
seem to you. In order to enter the
Temple of Birth it was necessary
for me to adopt a disguise. I
should like to remove that if pos-
sible.”
“Of course,” said William Doug-
las. “Some more durable clothing
— I’ll see that you are supplied.”
“And a considerable amount of
boiling water.”
“Naturally.” Apparently he as-
sumed it was for a bath, Ketan
thought.
Ketan spent the entire remainder
of the day alone in the room. He
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RENAISSANCE
85
stripped off the tattered filmy gar-
ments he had worn from the Temple
and with a knife lie had borrowed,
he hacked slowly at the half softened
plastic. He called for endless ket-
tles of boiling water with which he
tried to melt the resistance plastic.
The heat went through to his flesh
and he was boiled and mangled by
the time he was finished.
It was a poor job, but the rest of
the stuff would have to wear off.
He donned the rough, skin gar-
ments and then realized that they
had brought him a woman’s dress.
He laughed to himself as he
thought of the probable reaction of
William Douglas. He sent word
for him to come.
It was near dark and the village
was preparing to eat, when William
Douglas came in.
“Come and get something to eat,”
said William Douglas. ‘T’ve just
about finished our preparations for
tomorrow. I — ” he stopped, star-
ing at Ketan.
Ketan lowered his voice that he
had maintained at falsetto pitch un-
til now. “I’d like some man’s wear.
This doesn’t seem quite appropri-
ate.”
“Well, I’ll be—” William Doug-
las exclaimed. “So tiuit was the
disguise.”
XVII.
With an unreasonable reluctance
Ketan allowed himself to be led
out into the midst of the villagers.
He was both anxious to discover
what the community life of the Ille-
gitimates was like, and at the same
time half fearful of contacting
80
them because of a fearfully mount-
ing conviction of his own abnormal
conditioning.
Made of clay bricks, the two- to
four-room dwellings were grouped
irregularly in the clearing of the
valley and separated by crooked,
winding pathways that alternately
narrowed and widened.
It was difficult for Ketan to com-
prehend the way of life that these
poor conditions represented. That
it was not all due to the harried
conditions of life created by the
frequent attacks of the Statists was
obvious.
The people themselves reflected
ignorance and lack of Seeking in
their faces. Ketan walked among
them and looked in vain for the
face of a Seeker, one who could
plan and build for better conditions
than these. But there were none.
The faces were, rather, such faces
as Ketan had rarely, if ever seen
in Kronweld. They were faces that
spoke something to him that he did
not understand, the faces of men
and women who defied the Statists
and risked their lives every day in
their defiance. They were the faces
of men and women who would
rather live in the crudity and ig-
norance of these forest villages than
submit their children or themselves
to the tyranny of the Selector.
Somehow, Ketan liked what he
saw there, in spite of the repulsive
surroundings. If Kronweld had
a few men with faces like theirs, he
thought, there would be no forbid-
den Mysteries there. If some day
these people and the people of
Kronweld could merge, their at-
ASTOUNDING SCIENCEFICTION
tainments would be limitless.
He walked beside William Doug-
las through the drifting villagers
who wandered from house to house,
chatting in the streets, nodding in
easy deference to William Douglas.
The two were walking towards the
other end of the village where they
were to eat at the place William
Douglas had been staying.
They passed a building with a
pile of what looked like metal
wreckage to Ketan piled beside it.
William Douglas saw his glance.
“Statists’,” he said. “They are
machines the Statists build to carry
themselves through the air. Planes
or airships they call them here, but,
of course, you have developed such
in Kronweld.”
Ketan shook his head. “There
was no need, so we never produced
any such machine. The possibilities
of constructing one interested me
for a long time, but I never built
one. How did you get them?”
“They arc poor machines, not
like the ones men built a thousand
years ago. Sometimes they fail
and are forced to land. We cap-
ture the Statists and kill them, and
bring their machines, which are al-
most always wrecked, here. It was
a hunter in just such a machine that
destroyed the two villages, Domain
and Brent.”
Another time, and Ketan would
have liked to have examined the
machines, but the possible princi-
ples were obvious and he felt a
greater urgency in his other prob-
lems now.
They resumed their way. Nearly
there, they noticed a knot of vil-
lagers gathered at the end of the
street. They were gathered about
someone in their midst and one was
pointing down the street to them-
selves.
Suddenly William Douglas ut-
tered a cry. “Carmen 1”
He started to run, leaving Ketan
behind. Then a woman broke out
from the gathered knot and raced
towards him. They met halfway in
a tight, long-lasting embrace. The
woman was crying happily. “Bill I
1 thought I’d never see you again.
I’ve been to every village — ”
When Ketan came up they failed
to notice him for a long moment.
He stood watching, unable to com-
prehend the relationship of these
two. What kind of people were
they, who could watch as William
Douglas had watched his com-
panion die only two days before
and now —
They turned towards him then,
and William Douglas said, “This
is Ketan. There’s a long story
about him that you’ll have to hear.
And this is my sister, Carmen.”
Ketan took the hand she held out
towards him. Sister? He won-
dered. It was a word he had not
heard. But it implied a relationship
between them that he could not
comprehend.
William Douglas saw the con-
sternation on his face. He started
to smile, then a deeper sense and a
touch of pity removed it from his
lips.
“My sister,” he repeated. “It
means that the same man and
woman gave us life— -we have the
same mother and father.”
R12NAISSANCB
87
Carmen said nothing, but looked
strangely from Kctan to William
Douglas.
“We have a brother, too,” said
William Douglas, “but we don't
know where he is. We think the
Statists have killed him.”
Kctan stood looking from one to
the other. He tried to catch some-
thing of the bond that was between
them and failed. Cut he knew the
surging loneliness that he had al-
ways known in Kronweld, the im-
penetrable wall that seemed to
exist there between everyone but
companions. And now he thought
he saw why it existed.
“Sister,” he said slowly. “Brother
— Father, Mother — ” He repeated
the words he had heard like a child
learning them for the first time.
And the unfamiliar sentiments he
faintly glimpsed attached to them
were overwhelming. Kronweld,
with all the fine beauty and excel-
lence of its Seeking was more bar-
ren than the forest of villages of the
Illegitimates.
There were horses, which Ketan
had not seen before, saddled and
waiting when he arose the follow-
ing morning. The sight of William
Douglas astride one seemed ludi-
crous, but he had to admit it was a
utilization of animals that had not
occurred to him in Kronweld. He
doubted, however, that it would be
very practicable to ride the Bors.
As he approached the animal he
was to ride he doubted also the
practicability of his riding a horse.
Dubiously, he mounted with the aid
of John Edwards.
Besides the three animals they
rode, there were three tliat carried
packs of supplies only.
The first globe, or sun, as Ketan
was trying to accustom himself to
calling it, was not yet above the
horizon, but the sky was palely
light. There was a sharpness and
brilliance in the air that he had
never known in Kronweld. It filled
him with a strange, sheer exu-
berance and pleasure in mere exist-
ence. Tall, white clouds roamed in
the sky.
John Edwards looked up dubi-
ously. “I hope we don’t get caught
in a good thunderstorm before the
day is over.”
“We can’t wait on that,” said
William Douglas impatiently.
“Finding the pinnacle is of more
importance than a thunderstorm.”
Behind the casualness of the
words Ketan sensed an urgency al-
most like that which drove himself.
He wondered if the forces that
reached out from the pinnacle had
claimed William Douglas also.
For the first half of the day he
had little time to think of anything
but learning to ride properly. His
two companions rode beside him,
constantly keeping watch and try-
ing to show him how to let his body
follow the rocking motion of the
animal.
Until almost night, they followed
a winding trail through the forest,
under the great trees that towered
like some high vaulted roof above
them.
Ketan’s instincts for Seeking
were overwhelmed by his surround-
ings. There were Mysteries enough
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
here for all the Seekers in a thous-
and Kronwelds. Compared with
the fifteen different kinds of plants
which he had found in Dark Land,
he glimpsed a hundred different
kinds as he rode along here. Im-
pulse invited him to dismount and
examine and collect them, but there
was no time for that. Later, per-
haps there would come a day.
He saw animals, too. There were
tiny, scurrying things that climbed
in the trees and raced along the
ground. And once or twice he saw
large, horned animals like the one
William Douglas had killed.
When the sun was nearly down,
they began to descend sharply and
the trees about them were stubbier
and thinned out. Then abruptly
they came out on an exposed hill-
side where the mountains fell away
to the endless expanse of desert
below.
The sudden exquisite sight made
Ketan catch his breath. In the dis-
tance, other flat-topped hills were
bathed in purple sheen that merged
with their natural red and bronze.
As the sun lowered and the shad-
ows lengthened, it seemed as if the
endless desert were some vast sea
of moving color and lights. It
flowed and surged against his
senses until he had to turn his head
away.
But before he did, he had seen it.
He had seen beyond that red and
yellow desert and the mountains
with their purple rims. He had
RENAISSANCE
89
seen an endless expanse and a needle
peak thrusting up to break its bare-
ness.
He pointed through a gap far
across the desert. "It’s over there,”
he said.
William Douglas started to speak
and then closed his mouth silently.
John Edwards only stared at Ketan
and nodded.
They built a camp in a level
clearing on the edge of the forest,
and when they had eaten and the
fire had nearly died they lay back
and Ketan saw the stars.
That first night by the cave his
senses had been too dulled to no-
tice that they were more or brighter
than in the cloud laden skies of
Kromveld. But now he saw them.
Me lay watching as a child might
have watched, not amazed, not
frightened, but accepting their won-
der and their nearness as a part of
a new world.
He turned to William Douglas
who lay nearby with eyes looking
far beyond the stars. "What are
they? Does anyone know among
your people?” Ketan asked.
"What are what?”
"Up there — t hose points of
light.”
“The stars f”
"Is that what you call them? I
wonder if it would be possible to go
high enough to see what they are.”
William Douglas raised up on one
arm and looked down at Ketan. "Do
you mean that there are no stars
visible in Kronweld? That you
have no science of astronomy?”
"Only at rare, short intervals arc
such lights visible in Kronweld. We
oo
have wondered about them, but we
know nothing of them. They have
always been declared a Sacred Mys-
tery.”
"Stars.” He repeated the word
and it flowed upon his lips and
tongue like some breath of exotic
winds. Into it he put all the awe
and wonder, dependence and fear
that man had known since the first
cave dwellers prayed to the gods
of the rolling vastness of the sky
and the first shepherds looked up
to them at night with nameless
pleading.
"Stars,” he said. "They look as
the name sounds. Do you know
what they are ?”
William Douglas partook of the
mood that encompassed Ketan.
"They are dreams,” he said. "They
are dreams and other lives and other
homes and worlds where men are
as they would be.”
His eyes came back to earth and
he looked across the dying coals to
the eyes of the stranger from out of
another world. His glance fell
upon the narrow features, the thin
nostrils and sharp, never resting
eyes, the high smooth forehead.
"You’ve got to go back, Ketan,” lie
said. “This world will kill you.”
"There are other worlds like this
one?” Ketan persisted.
"Most of them are globes like our
own sun. Some of them are other
planets like this one. Many of
those other suns have planets.
There are probably more worlds like
this one than you can number right
in the range of your vision.”
"Kronweld . . . Kronweld could
be such a world, could be on one of
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
those worlds, couldn’t it?” Ketan
breathed.
“I wonder — ” said William
Douglas.
When he at last slept, Ketan was
still leaning on one arm, looking up
at the stars.
Ketan did not think he had even
been asleep when William Douglas
began stirring again. The Illegiti-
mate built up the fire and began
breakfast.
“We’ve got to get an early start
and put as much of that desert be-
hind us as possible before the sun
comes up,” he said. “It'll be an
oven out there by noon.”
The stars were still bright when
they broke camp and wound their
slow way down the mountainside.
The sky was just beginning to
glow in the east by the time they
reached the desert floor.
A fringe of low clouds in the
sky lighted up the world in a fire
glow as they left the mountains be-
hind them, and then slowly the
desert turned to a sea of yellow. It
gave a sense of unreality as if they
were moving upon a liquid surface
lighted from below. They seemed
to have stopped moving entirely,
for the mountains ahead came no
nearer, and those behind seemed
not to retreat.
His companions were obviously
uncomfortable in the rising warmth
of the day, but it did not trouble
Ketan. It was like many of Kron-
wcld’s days, and far less to endure
than the inferno of Fire Land
through which he had passed.
They stopped at a watering
place at midday. The sun was over-
head and so marked the passage of
time, but to Ketan it seemed an il-
lusion, for all time and all other ex-
periences seemed lost upon this sea
of yellow. We’ll never reach the
other side, he thought.
But by nightfall, they were near-
ing the gap in the mountains beyond
and time resumed its flow. He
knew that beyond that gap lay the
greater desert where eternal winds
blew and a single needle of rock
pierced the sky.
“We’ll camp outside,” said John
Edwards. “It’s hell in there. I
don’t know whether we can make it
in a day or not.”
So near his goal, Ketan hardly
slept that night. All the hopes and
fears that he had known returned
in an avalanche of emotion and
garbled reasoning. Would he at
last find out what the mysterious
visions meant? Would the pin-
nacle contain the explanation of the
artificialities and unrealities of
Kronweld ?
Most of all, would it tell him how
to go back — back to Elta?
He must have slept towards
dawn again, for he vras next aware
of William Douglas preparing^ the
fire. It was later now than the pre-
vious morning, and already the
walls of tire canyon were coloring
like ripening fruit.
They resumed their way quickly
and passed between the narrow gap
with its towering walls. It was a
short passage and after a single
turn they glimpsed the distant end.
It seemed as if a curtain of bronze
were hung across it.
RENAISSANCE
VI
“That’s it,” said John Edwards,
“and it’s hell.”
Then Ketan knew what it was.
He was seeing it now, not in vision,
but in reality. Beyond the mouth
of the canyon was the desert, the
desert of heaving, shifting, wind-
borne sands. Hell, John Edwards
called it. Ketan knew he had
traversed it nearly a score of times.
The wind began to dip fingers into
the canyon, sharp, golden fingers
of sand that divided into yet a
thousand other fingers and reached
into their lungs and pierced their
eyes and stung their skins. Half
blinded by the lashing sand, they
were not yet at the canyon’s end.
John Edwards coughed and
swung his horse around. “We’ll
have to wait,” he gasped. “We’ll
never make it with that tornado
blowing out there.”
The other two pulled up, cover-
ing their faces against the sand
blast.
“It's nearly always this way,”
said Ketan.
“What about it?” asked William
Douglas. “Is there much chance
of this wind dying down?”
“It never dies down. But it
might let up a little,” said John
Edwards. “We could never find
the pinnacle in that anyway. We
couldn’t see it twenty yards away.”
“Wc could find it,” said Ketan
quietly. “I don’t need to see it.”
As unerring as if a voice were
guiding him, he knew that he could
find it. He had done it before. He
knew how it would be the instant
they stepped out of the canyon’s
mouth.
“Are you sure of that?” William
Douglas asked.
Ketan nodded.
He hesitated, then decided. “Wc
may as well make a try for it. We
haven’t provisions enough for a
long wait. I’m willing to believe
that Ketan can take us thece.”
John Edwards made no com-
ment. He didn’t know or care much
about Ketan and vvliat mystic abili-
ties he might have. He was some-
thing strange, out of the Illegiti-
mates’ world. But John Edwards’
devotion to William Douglas was
strong. Whatever the leader of the
Illegitimates decided upon was
right with John Edwards; It was
fortunate that William Douglas
was there to bridge the gap between
them, Ketan thought.
They wrapped their faces in rags
moistened from their canteens and
reined the horses about. The ani-
mals reluctantly faced into the wind
that thrust into the canyon’s mouth.
Automatically Ketan now found
himself in the lead. The others had
given way to the instinct within him
that they hardly dared trust.
The canyon walls became mere
shadows only faintly darker than
the sand mist about them. When
they emerged from the mouth of
the canyon they were never quite
certain. They knew only that there
came a sudden increase in intensity
of the wind and the biting of the
sand needles pierced deeper into
their flesh.
The horses grew panicky in the
blind, howling world of air and
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
sand. It was only with difficulty
that the riders maintained control.
Ketan reined hard to keep his beast
headed into the wind, but he had to
let it go to keep its head down.
Thus, in their own silence, but
amidst the howling of wind-driven
sheets of sand, they rode on. It was
a world of desolate, torturing night.
Again Ketan felt that sense of lost
time and motion, but a thousand
times more intensified than out on
the desert of the day before. Now
he was in a world where motion
was impossible, where time would
never exist again. They were
frozen in this timeless block of sand
and air.
He turned to see if his com-
panions were there. He could only
sec William Douglas a scant half
length behind, but John Edwards
was invisible. He hoped the other
Illegitimate was still following.
He turned and tried to stare
ahead, shielding his eyes from the
blast. There was nothing. For a
moment he let his thoughts absorb
in introspection. Could he be sure
they were headed right?
There was no doubt of it in his
mind. As if an invisible guiding
beam were trained upon his brain,
he knew surely in what direction
the pinnacle lay through the desert.
And as they went on, it seemed
as if the gathering wisps of pre-
science of all the past tar a combined
in a single mighty conviction of
guiding forces that had led him
through every incident of his living
to this present moment. It was
right. He was where these forces
had led him, and now, presently,
they would reveal themselves and
all the reality of the interlocked
worlds that could be bridged by a
pathway of light across the ages
and through infinities.
There was no way of knowing
where the sun was in the sky. It
was only by the thickening of the
gloom that they judged that night
was coming. Yet it seemed in-
credible that a full day had passed
even though the sand had seemed
to beat upon them for an eternity.
And then it broke.
The curtain of swirling sand
dropped as if melted in the sudden
downpour of rain that fell upon
them. The wind died with star-
tling suddenness and water re-
placed the sand, falling in blinding
sheets. But it was good.
They drew up together and
halted and turned their faces up to
it. They grinned at each other as
the rain made little cascades in the
furrows of their faces and carried
with it the shattered cakes of sand
that lay upon them.
“You were right about the thun-
derstorm," William Douglas said to
John Edwards, "and am I glad!”
“Another hour of that and Pd
have been gone. We lost two of
the pack horses, did you know?'*
William Douglas looked back.
His face sobered. “That means a
shorter stay. Do you know where
we are, Ketan?*'
Ketan pointed. They saw it si-
multaneously. Through the misty
curtain of water that fell about
them, they saw in the distance the
RENAISSANCE
93
single column that reached towards
the sky.
The pinnacle.
A sudden unreasonable excite-
ment took possession of Ketan for
an instant It was the realization
that here before him was the ob-
ject of a life-long quest. Here was
the visioned rock whose image had
been burned in his brain before ever
his eyes beheld it.
“Come on,” he said hoarsely.
The pinnacle was a single shaft
of rock that seemed unbroken by
the winds and frosts. It looked as
eternal as the stars. The flat planes
of its sides looked as if fashioned
by the hands of the gods.
Even John Edwards was sub-
dued by a sense of awe in the pres-
ence of the thing. “I’ll bet no man
has been this close to it for a thou-
sand years,” he murmured.
“Do you know what you expect
to find, now ?” asked William
Douglas.
“Yes. Down near the base on
the opposite side — ”
He reined about. The feet of
the horses padded upon the sand
that was still powdery beneath the
thin layer of mud. The thirst of
the desert was hardly appeased by
the thick rain.
It began to let up a little as they
neared the pinnacle. Somehow the
rock was larger than he had
visioned it. William Douglas esti-
mated it as two hundred feet in
diameter and about six hundred
feet high. Not another rise broke
the flat expanse of sand as far as
they could see.
The illusion of vast distance was
04
partly due, they saw, to the slow
rise of the desert sand that ait off
the view of the mesas behind them.
Ketan led them to the opposite
side and gazed upward for a long
moment at the wet sides of the
rock. Its thick girth was striped
with red and white and bronze
layers like the distant mesas.
John Edwards repeated his ob-
servation about the isolation of it.
“If somebody wanted to hide any-
thing, this would be a good place
to put it.”
But Ketan was not listening. IJe
was surveying the surface of the
rock in vain. He went to the other
sides and scanned them. There was
nothing there to mark the spot he
searched for. He returned to his
starting point and continued to stare
up.
“It*s not there — ” he began.
Then his eyes lighted. “It’s down
there,” he exclaimed. “The sand
has buried it.”
“Buried what?” said William
Douglas.
“The entrance,” said Ketan.
It was obvious that the sand had
drifted about the base of the pin-
nacle to a considerable depth, for
it sloped down in a long slant that
indicated an excavation of many
feet if they had to go down to a
point level with the general expanse
of the desert.
But Ketan indicated that they
would have to dig to a depth not
much more than equal to their own
height. The vision in his mind was
of a marker far above his head
when standing on the level.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
The sudden torrent of rain was
slowly dying, and they could sec
breaks in the dark, overcast sky.
The wind was rising again, por-
tending a resumption of the sand-
storm which the rain had inter-
rupted, but it would not be as bad
with the thin layer of wet, caked
sand on the surface.
Their packs contained an assort-
ment of crude tools of the Illegiti-
mates’ own manufacture. They
were fortunately on the animal
which had not become lost in the
storm. Kctan indicated the exact
spot at which the digging should
begin. There were no materials for
shoring up the sides and as they dug
they had to widen the mouth of the
hole to account for the sand that
constantly shifted down.
It was a wearying task, made
miserable by the rising wind that
swirled in the hole and limited the
direction of shoveling so that only
one man could work at a time.
Night, too, was swiftly approach-
ing and the lowering clouds were
closing the gaps they had tenta-
tively opened. It looked like a
night of hurricane and rain.
At last John Edwards straight-
ened from his frantic digging. He
wiped his sand-caked face and
looked at Ketan. “This is as far
as you said it would be necessary
to dig. But there’s nothing yet.
Are you sure this is right?”
“Yes. It’s got to be there!” He
leaped into the hole. “Let me try.”
John Edwards relinquished the
shovel and stepped out. He stood
on the rim of the hole with William
Douglas. “I think we ought to
RENAISSANCE
start back. There’s nothing here.
We can’t keep these horses here
without water, and it’s suicide to
try to camp here any length of
time.”
Ketan heard them. Their silhou-
ettes were dimly visible on the rim
of the hole above him, standing
like scornful gods in judgment over
him. He hoped they wouldn’t go
back, but he knew that if they did
they would go without him.
It was too dark to see what he
was doing, but he kept on throw-
ing sand out blindly. The wind
swept it back in upon him so that
he was forced to dig almost with
his eyes shut. He kept close to the
rock wall of the pinnacle and his
shovel struck the rock repeatedly
so that the force of his labor was
inefficiently expended.
Then suddenly he realized it
wasn’t just the wall that he was
striking. It was a projection that
jutted out from the wall.
He threw the shovel out and
flung down upon his knees, claw-
ing frantically with his fingers. His
eyes couldn’t see it, but his hands
gave him the shape of the object
and its size. And his fingers found
the small hole above it.
“I’ve got it! Hand me that
bar,” he shouted up to the men.
William Douglas threw it down
to hhn and leaned over to see what
Ketan was doing. He thrust the
bar into the hole and pried out the
smoothly fitted pryamid of rock.
It came easily, but nothing else hap-
pened. He looked up and down the
surface in bewilderment. He had
expected this to be the key that
95
would open sonic passageway to
them. There was just nothing at
all.
Then William Douglas was
shouting excitedly. '‘Down there
— that light — in the hole!”
A faint, golden light was pouring
out of the small opening, increas-
ing rapidly in intensity. Ketan lay
on his side, curling his body into
a knot in the bottom of the dig-
gings to see into the hole in the
rock.
lie did not know what he ex-
pected to see. He was prepared
for anything — anything but what
he did see recessed there.
The light was coming from a
tiny, glowing image, a golden im-
age of a dancing girl poised on one
foot. The figure was carved with
an exquisite reality that made him
expect it to burst into motion.
Before his senses fully recorded
an impression of the image he knew
he had seen it before. Seen it
nearly every day of his life since
his birth into Kronweld.
It was a delicate miniature of the
golden image of the First Woman
that stood in the grounds before
the Temple of Birth.
“What is it?’' William Douglas
and John Edwards stood impa-
tiently on the rim of the excava-
tion.
Slowly, Kctan climbed out of the
hole and motioned them down.
“Sec for yourselves,” he said.
In turn, they jumped down and
took a look at the tiny figure in the
recess, while on the rim, Kctan
0C
stood staring into space. He was
seeing Kronweld, the Temple of
Birth, the fluttering curtains of pur-
ple light in the night sky over that
distant world.
And he was seeing the golden,
dancing image of the First Woman.
How was it possible for a minia-
ture of that image to be here on
Earth ?
William Douglas rose slowly
from his crouching position.
“That’s the most beautiful sculp-
toriiig I’ve seen for a long time— -
and to think of finding it here in
this desert. Any idea what it
means, Ketan?”
He told them of the original in
Kronweld.
William Douglas whistled softly.
“That is something. How long
does your history say that the im-
age has been there? In Kronweld,
I mean.”
“We have a record of a thou-
sand tara since the First Woman
came there. The image is supposed
to have been there almost all of
that time.”
“A thousand tara. I wonder how
many of our years that is.”
“As near as I can tell, it would
be about twelve hundred of your
years.”
The Illegitimate turned back to
the hole where he could still see
the light from the image glowing
faintly. “And that must have been
there equally as long. I wonder
how it got there. Who put it there
— and most of all, why?*'
John Edwards was not so im-
pressed. “Is that all we came to
find? Let’s get going if it is.”
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
"No,” said William Douglas.
"There must be something more.
This has no meaning by itself.
What do you think, Ketan?”
“I don’t know what to think.
There's something more here, I’m
sure, but what it is, I have no idea.”
"You spoke of an entrance — ”
“There should be one. All I
know is that the small projecting
pyramid should be removed. I
thought that would open the way.
I’m going to look again.”
He went down into the hole and
crouched, staring at the tiny im-
age. Then he reached in a hand to
touch it It was merely resting
there in delicate balance on one tiny
foot. He lifted it up and out of the
recess, its self-contained glowing
lighting the hole in the sand with
its golden light.
And then the sand beneath him
collapsed.
As suddenly as if a cloak had
been throwm about him, Ketan van-
ished from the sight of the two Il-
legitimates.
“Ketan !” William Douglas
shouted into the hole. There was
no sound, but the slithering of hun-
dreds of pounds of sand.
"Ketan 1”
Then as from far away came
Ketan's faint cry. "Come here,
quick 1”
William Douglas poised on the
edge of the digging. John Ed-
wards touched a hand to his arm.
“Do you think it’s safe?”
‘Til go first. If everything’s all
right, I’ll call to you. If you don’t
hear me, take it easy. Don’t jump
in after until you know what it’s all
about.”
"I don’t like this — ”
But William Douglas was gone.
He leaped into the hole and slid
down the sandy wall. But he didn’t
stop where the bottom of the dig-
ging ended. He plunged on through
into a tunnel of blackness that was
fouled with the dust of sliding sand.
But it was short. He ended ab-
ruptly upon a stone floor.
Ketan was standing as if turned
to stone. He did not even notice
William Douglas’ arrival, but con-
tinued in motionless stance a little
distance away.
And then William Douglas rose
and stood still.
RENAISSANCE
XVIII.
They were standing in a sort of
alcove. Dark, rough-hewn rocks
marked the walls and ceiling about
them, though the floor on which
they stood was smooth.
But it was not this that they
stared upon. It was the scene be-
yond. They were looking into a
garden where strange pink and yel-
low and blue 'flowers nodded in a
faint breeze that bore their fra-
grance to the men. There was a
pool in the center with a fine spray
rising into the air and a pair of
birds were noisily bathing in it.
Beyond, tall trees waved in the
wind, against a sky where floating
clouds drifted softly and melted
even as the men watched.
They had no mind or voice for
words. William Douglas was dimly
conscious of John Edwards’ fran-
tic, calling from above, but he could
find no voice to breathe the wonder
of the mirage before them.
He knew that it was a mirage, a
product of some mental aberration
that had seized them, but he
couldn’t fight it off. And then in a
moment he ceased all desire to.
There was a movement among
the tall flowers beyond the pool and
a figure came into view. It was a
girl walking slowly towards them.
Her head was high and there
was a smile for them oil her lips.
They could see the wind touch her
raven black hair and stir the folds
of her dress whoSe pink matched
the most delicate of the flowers.
And then she spoke, but Ivetan
did not grasp her words. His
98
mind was in a tumult that made
speech impossible. Perhaps he had
not even heard. He only continued
to stare in disbelief. And then
William Douglas saw it, too.
The girl was the living replica of
the miniature that Ketan still held
tightly in his hand. She was the
First Woman.
"Welcome to the repository,” she
said. "We’ve been expecting you.
Please follow me. My father is
waiting for you.”
It was the sound of her voice
and her words that struck another
impact to the men’s consciousness,
for the words she spoke were in
Ketan 's language rather than Wil-
liam Douglas’. Yet it was a
strangely unfamiliar form. Her
pronunciation was not as it should
have been. And the word forms
were partially obsolete.
Ketan gave up his wonder, His
mind went back to the control of
his vocal cords and he answered
her.
"I am Ketan. This is William
Douglas,” he said. "And this — ”
They realized for the first time that
John Edwards was not with them.
William Douglas returned to the
opening and called up for their
companion to come down.
Muttering under his breath, John
Edwards complied cautiously. "I
thought you’d fallen into a booby
trap and killed yourselves. I was
just about to shovel in the hole and
go back.” Then he, too, stopped
and stared in wonder.
"What in—?”
The girl seemed puzzled. "How
( Continued on page 148 )
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Problem
in Eight D intensions
99
Television lias been disappoint-
ingly slow in coining. We’re rather
accustomed to having an obvious,
widespread desire filled fairly
promptly by the laboratories; that
so much-wanted a device as a tele-
vision receiver should.be so delayed
— when we have, for many years
now, seen fairly efficient laboratory
models — seemed downright irritat-
ing.
Part of the answer conics down
to a question of compromise with
quality. In 1925, home television
was nearer than it was ten years
later. In 1925 home movies had
not become so generally familiar,
and almost any moving picture scene
in the home would have been pleas-
ing. liy 1935 excellent home
movies, complete with color, were
standard in every home that would
he expected to buy the earlier — and
more expensive — television sets.
Quality of that level had to be at-
tained, rather than the far lower
permissible standard of ten years
earlier.
But the basic trouble lies in the
enormous complexity of the prob-
lem. It is, quite truly, a problem in
eight dimensions — eight different
parameters which must be under
perfect control — in the case of ulti-
mate perfection. That should be
our goal, of course, and the permis-
sible compromises made from that
point. The ultimate television
would l>e three-dimensional, in full
natural color, and sound. Eight di-
mensions. Accepting two-dimen-
sional television reduces that to
seven dimensions, and by sacrific-
ing color, we need handle only six
parameters. How eight dimen-
sions ?
The General Electric television studio being set up for a play. Special
high-intensity lights that give a minimum of heat have been developed.
Mobile television pick-up cameras on self-propelled trolleys arc used.
Television broadcasting of movie film introduces certain problems, since the
frames- fier-second of the movie projector must match the television rate.
The three spatial dimensions, of
course, find, since we are forced to
transmit the signals in sequence, re-
creating the original by scanning,
time. The scanning spot must be
at the right point in the three spa-
tial dimensions at the right time. It
must, in addition have the right in-
tensity for that point and time, and
the right color. (Incidentally, if
three-color reproducing systems are
used, color becomes three, not
merely one dimension, making a
ten-dimensional rather than an
eight-dimensional problem. To
consider color as one dimension is,
actually, a simplification of the
facts.) The requirement of accom-
panying sound adds two more
parameters; sound intensity and
timing. (In electrical reproduc-
tion of sound, instantaneous inten-
I'kniU.KM IX Kir.HT IH.M K.NSIll.VS
sity, not pitch, is measured and re-
produced.)
The system of television in use
before the war had reduced the
problem to a simple six-dimensional
job; the television channel carried
on its signals which kept the re-
ceiver informed of six necessary
values ; sound intensity-vs-time,
horizontal and vertical co-ordinates
of the light spot, plus spot intensity
and time. Three-color television
had been tried and demonstrated
successfully— on a laboratory basis,
liven the standard television sig-
nal had to carry, aside from the
simple sound signal, six modu-
lation controlling horizontal and
vertical timing impulses a sig-
nal which controlled general scene
illumination — i.e., whether the
scene showed a white rose on a gray
A Genera! Electric engineer on the television transmitter adjusting
the plumbing — on a ten-kilowatt transmitter tithe. It takes real power
to push the signals out. and water-cooling for the power amplifiers.
card, or a dark gray mass on a
black velvet background — a hori-
zontal and vertical blanking im-
pulse that turned off illumination
entirely while the scanning sjwt re-
turned for a new sweep, as well as
spot illumination signals. Even so,
the receiver had to draw 60-cycle
AC power from a line tied in with
that of the transmitter, or added
difficulties of synchronization were
encountered.
Television was one of most com-
plex problems ever tackled. The
immense amount of research ex-
pended in solving, even moderately,
those enormously difficult problems
has given returns in an entirely dif-
ferent field. Electronics is the
dominant, invisible weapon of this
war : every tactical and strategic
102
operation considered must keep in
mind the possibilities of electronic
detectors, signaling devices, and
every other electronic device.
Many of those have been made pos-
sible by devices growing directly
from the extremely severe require-
ments television research imposed.
The greater the detail in the tele-
vision picture, the more individual
signal impulses must lie sent to re-
produce that detail. The standard
good-quality magazine half-tone
(Astounding’s rotogravure photo-
graphs are not half-tones ; the cover
is) has 150 lines per inch — that
many dots per inch representing
separate detail units. Finer detail
is lost. In television, over 500 lines
are scanned across the screen each
cycle, with 30 cycles per second to
A8TOD X D I X C! S C I E X C E - F I C T I O N
produce a blended, moving picture
by retinal persistence. That means
500 x 30 lines per second horizon-
tally, and if equal fineness of detail
in eadi horizontal line is obtained,
500 x 500 x 30, or 7,500,000 indi-
vidual detail-signals per second.
The light -spot must lie able to go
from zero intensity to maximum in
1 /7,500,000th of a second, and
back to black in another 1/7,500,-
000th of a second. But it may be
called upon to go from black to
white that quickly, and then remain
white for the rest of that picture
cycler— a thirtieth of a second. It
must follow signals varying at a
rate equivalent to a frequency of
about 4,000 kilocycles as faithfully
as it does signals as slow as 30 cy-
cles. A domestic short-wave re-
ceiver can follow 4,000 kilocycles
Because of the extremely high radio frequencies required, television signals
are stopped at the horizon. Network broadcasting of television, therefore,
requires relay stations. This one bridges the New York-Schenectady gap.
* <9
OjO
without trouble in the radio receiver
end. The audio amplifier of very
fine, very high-fidelity sets can get
down as low as 30 cycles. But a
totally different type of amplifying
circuit is used in the high-radio-fre-
quency section, and in the audio
frequency amplifier. The tele-
vision circuit bad to lie developed —
one circuit that would amplify
everything and anything all the way
from the lowest audio frequencies
all the way out to and including the
nearer short-wave radio frequen-
cies, and amplify them all equally.
The problem, gentlemen, is a lulu.
You start by developing a totally
new type of extremely high-gain
pentode, and work up a circuit that
will give you all the gain you can
get at the 4,500, 000-cycle range,
where gain is almost ungettable.
By locating on a hill, the G-E station IV2XB can beam its transmissions
to three nearby cities in line of sight directions with equal efficiency.
Then the gain at more normal fre-
quencies — a mere 50, OOO-cycle
supersonic frequency — is enormous,
because the adverse conditions that
cripple even your new super-gain
tube at those high frequencies
aren’t ojierating at this lower fre-
quency. So you add a special cir-
cuit -that does cripple the gain at
the lower radio and higher audio
frequencies. It’s somewhat like
getting a convoy through sub-in-
fested waters; you pick the slowest
tub in the lot, and let it set the pace.
Then drags, reduced lx>iler pres-
sure, and other crippling methods
are used to cut down the speed of
the faster ships. Finally, at the
very low audio frequencies — the
30-cycle end — the measures used to
cripple the high gain begin to show
up as too effective, and a crutch is
added for that end.
It’s a wonderful and fearful cir-
cuit — but it does the job required.
Electrically, it’s something of a de-
signer’s nightmare. The actual
equipment is simple enough — a few-
tiny resistors, a few pencil-thick
inch-long paper and tinfoil con-
densers, a pair of small inductance
THE
coils. It was the difficulty of cal-
culating just what was needed, and
finding out how to compromise that
took so long, and was so hard to ac-
complish. They had that fairly well
worked out, when the war started.
Surprising what war develop-
ments have done. That new super-
gain tube, for instance. Pretty
clumsy, inefficient gadget, it appears
now. And that cathode ray view-
ing tube! Seven thousand volts,
with the lethal kick of a high-ca-
pacity condenser, doesn’t belong in
the household! There’s something
inherently wrong with the idea of
controlling the device that produces
the light ; light-generating equip-
ment is usually power-consuming,
massive, and clumsy. The right
way would be to develop a system
of generating the light in device A,
and controlling the light after it
was produced. Control the light,
not the light-generator.
My bet is that the post-war re-
ceivers have a 500 or 1,000 watt
tungsten filament projection bulb as
the light source, running on 110
volts, not a cathode ray tube run-
ning on 7,000.
END.
104
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Refraction
and Lenses
by GENE MITCHELL
tenses, in cameras , in microscopes, periscopes , telescopes , in a thou-
sand instruments, are prime instruments of rear, whether against men
or microbes. And the laws of nature seem to be plumb set agin 'em!
So far, nobody has been able to
photograph a landscape by the light
of the full moon in a tenth of a
second, which accomplishment is a
cinch for any normal eye. Don’t
blame the lens designer for that,
though — the marvelous ability of
the eye to record a picture with
really low illumination is due al-
most entirely to the superb sensi-
tivity of the retina. SS, if you
want a camera that will come some-
where near photographing any-
thing you can see, take your troubles
to the emulsion makers — not that
they don’t have enough troubles al-
ready.
The lens of the eye, yvprking un-
der the most extreme conditions of
dim light, has a relative aperture
of about f/2.2. Camera lenses of
K KFR ACTION AND LENSES
f/1.5 are fairly common nowa-
days, and for some purposes where
everything must be sacrificed for
speed, apertures as large as i/0.67
have been obtained. What’s more,
the f/1.5 lens will focus a much
sharper picture over a much larger
area than any human eye, and in
general beat the eye under any con-
ditions you may care to name, ex-
cept for the automatic focusing
feature. And don’t bet that that
won’t be done some day.
A designer working on a camera
lens Iras a lot of different things to
think about — many more than we
have time ter discuss right now. For
the present writing, let’s confine
ourselves to his first concern — the
stuff he's going to make the lens out
of. In othfer words, let’s take a look
105
tiiuk A U»>
Semiprecious jewels of the optical industry — fine optical glass broken
from the special — and expensive — clay pot in which it was made.
at the characteristics and peculiari-
ties of the various optical materials
which have been, or may be in the
future, used in lenses.
Sir Isaac Newton, the first great
“opticist,” discovered in 1666 that
white light is not something indi-
vidual and unique, but a mixture of
1041
A STOf N'lMXC XC I KXCB-r 1 4’TI ON
all the colors. He didn’t know at
that time anything about electro-
magnetic radiation, nor that his
spectrum consisted of waves of
light running in wave length from
about 3800A to 7400 A — 1 milli-
meter 10.000,000 Angstrom
Units. Hut he did show that he
could split white light into a spec-
trum with a prism, and then re-
combine the colors into white again
with another prism. He found,
too. that, if the second prism was
turned crosswise to the first, he
could spread the spectrum out di-
agonally, but he could produce no
further splitting up of the light.
Incidentally, Sir Isaac’s account
of his experiments in optics is fine
reading, if you can find a copy.*
It certainly demonstrates the cali-
Ijer of the mind that made some of
the most fundamental discoveries
of this particular branch of science,
with no other equipment than a few
simple hunks of glass and a hole in
a window shade for a light source.
(He has gained a certain amount of
fame from his work in several other
fields, too.) Fortunately, Newton
was mistaken in one of his beliefs
that any glass prism of the same
angle would spread * out the spec-
trum by the SUme amount. We'll
see later why it’s so fortunate that
he was wrong.
A beam of light entering a piece
of glass is bent, or “refracted,” at
the surface, because the velocity of
light is less in glass than in air.
•Sir Isaac Newton: "Oplicks: or, A Treatise
of the Reflexions. Refractions. Inflexions ami
Colours of Liiiht,” London. 1704. An interest-
ing short article on Newton's life and necom
plishmeuts by E. N. I)aC. Andrade appeared in
the Proceedings of the Physical Society, 55 ,
*308, March 1943.
REFRACTION AXI) LENSES
The refractive index of the glass
is the ratio of the velocity of light
in air lo the velocity in the glass.
However, light of short wave
lengths doesn’t travel as fast in
glass as light of long wave lengths,
so that a bundle of, say, blue light
is bent more than a bundle of red
light, and the refractive index for
the blue light is higher. This
phenomenon is called disi>ersion.
Ali known optical materials have
a certain amount of dispersion.
Nobody knows exactly why, al-
though the most widely-held theory
is that the index gradually increases
to infinity at a wave length where
the material is completely absorp-
tive. All these materials have
hands in the far ultraviolet where
they are completely opaque. Pre-
sumably, a material which was com-
pletely transparent to all wave
lengths of the electromagnetic spec-
trum would have no dispersion at
all. And would that stuff come in
handy !
Lens designers usually refer to
light neither by wave length nor
by color, hut by letters which repre-
sent certain monochromatic lines in
the emission spectra of certain ele-
ments. Heforc going any further
with the subject, we'd better un-
derstand just what these letters in-
dicate.
First on the list in the D line,
5893 A, which is not a line itself,
hut halfway lietween the two strong
yellow lines of the sodium spec-
trum. For regular use, the light
is usually generated in a sodium
arc lamp, similar to those used in
107
Fig. 1. The H-lamp set-up allows the weak luminosity of a gas discharge
to reach a usable intensity by looking along the thin gas-discharge column.
Fig. 2. Two cemented doublet
lenses , both corrected achromats,
using croton and flint glasses.
Top represents a good choice of
glasses; bottom, an optically similar
lens, but a poor choice of glass.
many places for highway lighting.
In a pinch, though, or for home ex-
periments, sodium light can be pro-
duced very easily by tying around
the top of a Bunsen burner an
asl)Cstos wick, which is kept moist
with a solution of tabic salt.
Next come three lines of the
hydrogen spectrum : C at 6563 A,
which is a fine, rich red in color;
F. 4861, a bright pure blue; and
G', 4341, which is an intense deep
violet. These lines -are usually pro-
duced in a low-pressure gas dis-
charge tube, commonly called an
H-tubc because it looks like Fig. 1.
Hydrogen doesn’t display a par-
ticularly bright discharge, but there
is a comparatively high current den-
sity through the small connecting
tul>e: and when this tube is viewed
end-on, it’s a source with plenty of
intensity for the purpose.
A S T O I! X DING 8CIENCE FK'TIO X
DISPERSION ►
Fig. 3. A graph of the characteristics of optical mediums, plotting light-
bending versus color-separating powers. All lens design hinges on these.
Sometimes used instead of the
sodium D is d. a yellow line of the
helium spectrum at 5876. The
Chance- Parsons Co. of Birming-
ham, England, lists indices of their
glasses for b, 7065. from the helium
spectrum.
Most of the rest of the lines we’ll
be referring to are found in the
mercury arc. and mercury arcs
are used so widely nowadays that
we won’t need to describe them.
The ini|M>rtant lines are: e. at
5461 A, a brilliant green* and
just about the wave length for
which the eye has maximum sen-
sitivity ; g, 4358, a violet some-
times used instead of G ' : It, a very
deep violet at 4047 ; and a very
REFRACTION* ANI) LENSES
"hot” line at 3650 A, which has no
letter, and is usually classed as near
ultraviolet, rather than visible light.
Strangely enough, no use is made
of the bright yellow mercury doub-
let at 5770 and 5791. As a matter
of fact, the mercury arc should l>e
quite satisfactory as the only source
used for refractometry. Sufficient
data to describe the dispersion curve
of a glass could be found from the
wave lengths already mentioned,
plus the red line at 6907, and two
lines in the near infrared, at 10,140
and 11.287 A. However, it’s just
like a lot of other things — the glass-
makers will stick to their C, D, F,
and 6' for some time yet.
There is just one more line we
100
High-precision spectrometer, made by Gaerntner Co. Angles may be read
to one second of arc by means of the four scale-reading microscopes.
need to know, and that one is found
in the spectrum of potassium. It’s
called A', the wave length is 7682 A,
and like D, it is the average of two
fairly close lines. In color, it is a
very deep red, somewhere near the
limit of visibility. In case you
want to refer back to these lines,
let’s list them, with the wave
lengths, the elements they come
from, and their colors:
Wave
Name Length
Hlcmcut
Color
A'
7682 A.
Potassium
Very deep red
b
7065
Helium
Medium red
C
6563
Hydrogen
Bright red
1)
5893
Sodium
Chrome yellow
(1
5876
Helium
Bright yellow
e
5461
Mercury
Bright green
F
4861
Hydrogen
Pure Blue
R
4358
Mercury
Violet
G'
4341
Hydrogen
Deep violet
h
4047
Mercury
To get back to glass, it’s the dis-
persion that makes a prism spread
white light into a spectrum. And
whether the glass is made into a
prism or a lens, it still l>ends /* light
more strongly than C. This means
that a single lens will focus blue
light a lot closer than red, and the
foci for all the different colors
of the spectrum will lie strung
out at different distances from
the lens. In other words, the
lens has “chromatic aberration.”
Newton believed that all glasses
would have the same amount of
dispersion, and that therefore any
combination of lenses must have
chromatic aberration. It is for that
reason that he became interested
in reflecting telescopes, which aren’t
troubled with that particular aber-
10
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE- FICTION
laistk ft Lamb
Abbe rcfractomctcr. Not as accurate as the spectrometer, it is far
wore convenient to operate, and can be used with liquid specimens.
RF>KK ACTION AXI> I.KN8ES Ml
Harshaa CUaiul C*
One of the newest and most interesting sources of gptical materials —
synthetic crystals. These are not simply f used-ami -solidified materia!,
hut perfect, large single crystals. Controlled very slow cooling does it.
ration.
I »ut Xewton was wrong, and a
little later it was found that using
lead oxide instead of calcium oxide
in their soda-limc-silica glasses
would increase the dispersion de-
cidedly. In 1758 an Knglishman
named Dollond combined a con-
verging, or positive, lens made of
the old “crown” glass with a di-
verging. or negative, lens of the
new "flint" glass having more dis-
|K*rsion, to produce an objective
with the chromatic alierration cor-
rected — the first "achromat." Such
a combination is easy to find now -
112
each glass has a numlier, called the
disjiersive index or Ahlnr number,
which is found from the following
relation: ( n is the refractive index)
— M |> — *
Mk — «e
Actually, iir — »<• is the dispersion,
and the v-number would properly
lie called reciprocal dispersion.
(Hasses of increasing dispersions
have decreasing v-numbers.
The reason for using the v num-
bers is that they may Ik- used in a
simple formula to find an achro-
matic combination of glasses:
A K T o 1 • X I » I X ( i SI'IKXCK FICTION
Hanba* Ch ( .lt»l U
The crystals, as grown, are chunky cylinders topped by a cone. From
these, lens blanks, prisms of various shapes, and other forms can be
sawn. Crystals of “ unnatural " optical perfection arc made synthetically.
f i and / 2 are the focal lengths of
the two individual lens elements of
die two different glasses, and F is
the focal length of the system re-
sulting when the two elements are
cemented together. Such cemented
doublets are still used ( Fig. 2) for
telescope objective. The crown
glass is on the left, and the flint on
the right. 'Hie first combination is
one made of two glasses whose v-
numbers are quite different, say
60 and 40. The other combination
shows what happens if the two v-
REFK ACTION AND I.KNSKN
numbers are too close together, for
instance 60 and 52.
big. 3 is a chart of a number of
different kinds of optical glasses,
as well as sihir* other interesting
materials. The index for I) light
increases along the vertical scale,
and the dispersion— remember, it
runs in the opposite direction from
the Y-number— along the horizontal
scale. The index and v-valuc of
an ordinary soda- lime- silica crown
glass arc 1.52-60, and as lead oxide
is added, the index goes up and
the v-number down. We come suc-
cessively to 1.54-50, 1.57-43, 1.62-
n:i
3fi, 1.70-30, and finally to 1.92-21,
which glass is ninety percent lead !
The reason for using C and /•'
light for calculating the dispersive
index of a glas* was that they in-
clude the section of the spectrum
which is brightest to the eye — in
1800. the photographic plate hadn’t
been invented. So that achromatic
lenses corrected this way were fine,
and everybody was happy. Until
they started to make photographs.
And then the photographers found
that after they had focused a pic-
ture on the ground glass, they had
to shift the plate away from the
lens a certain distance, or the nega-
tive would Ik.* out of focus. The
trouble is that, when two glasses
have different dispersive indices,
the one with the higher disjiersion
— lower v-value — has a proportion-
ately higher dispersion at the ends
of the spectrum than it does in the
middle. If two glasses are calcu-
lated to make the C and /*' foci fall
together, the I) and c foci fall a lit-
tle short, the A' and infrared wave
lengths focus farther from the lens,
and the G'. It. and ultraviolet still
farther away. The answer to this
problem was to redesign the photo-
graphic lens to bring D and G' light
to the same focus: D from the mid-
dle of the visually brightest part
of the spectrum, and G' from the
middle of the actinic range, or the
blue and violet wave lengths to
which the first photographic emul-
sions were sensitive.
As a matter of fact, this D-G'
type of chromatic correction is still
used for photographic objectives,
as it has proved j>erfectly satis-
114
factory for even the latest panchro-
matic materials, when used with-
out a filter. Of course, photog-
raphy in the infrared is an entirely
different problem — you photo-bugs
know that you have to change focus
a little when using infrared-sensi-
tive film.
Meanwhile, this inability to bring
more than two wave lengths to the
same focus — the residual chromatic
aberration in an achromat is known
as “secondary sjx-ctrum”— had
caused trouble in another field. As
soon as the principle of the achro-
mat had been discovered, the as-
tronomers seized upon it gleefully
for their purposes. The mirror
telescojK* projiosed by Newton was
entirely too hard to make of good
(juality, so the refracting telescojK*
enjoyed a rebirth of |x>pu!arity. Of
course, the next thing the astrono-
mers proceeded to do was to make
their objective in larger and larger
diameters and longer and longer
focal lengths. And when they made
really big ones, they found that all
the star images were surrounded by
big purple circles — secondary sj>cc-
trum again. So they went hack to
reflectors for their king-size tele-
scopes. The refractors still have
advantages for some purposes, hut
that's another tale.
We've seetr the influence that
lead oxide has on glass. A lot of
other things* have been put in to
change the characteristics, esjjecially
barium. About 1890 the Schott &
(ien. Glasswerk, a subsidiary of
Carl Zeiss, discovered that, by add-
• For instance. Kuan Man Sun: "Beryllium
in Optical Class." The Class Industry, 21 .
Pl>. 155, 217: April and May 194.1.
A KTO T XIH X O KCIKNCK-KICTION
ing barium to a glass, they could
raise the refractive index without
changing the dispersion, and such
glasses as 1.62-60 became possible.
This was a fine thing for lens de-
sign — some authorities claim that
the barium glass was the outstand-
ing optical advance of the nine-
teenth century. And in 1938 the
Eastman Kodak Co. patented* a
series of glasses which contain no
silica at all, but are composed
largely of oxides of some of the
rare-earth elements, particularly
lanthanum, tantalum, and thorium.
These glasses have still higher in-
dices than the barium glasses, with-
out a corresponding increase in the
dispersion.
Another recent modification is
“wheel-barium” glass. Occasion-
ally, especially on Monday morn-
ing, all the glass workers will be
dumping their wheelbarrow loads
of chemicals into the glass-pot,
when one of the workers will slip
and dump in his wheelbarrow, too.
Then wc get wheel-barium.
Still, with all the optical glasses
now available to the lens designer,
the secondary spectrum can't lie re-
moved from an objective. With a
few minor exceptions, no matter
what pair or series of glasses is se-
lected from the catalogue, any two
lenses, of the same focal length
and having the same wave lengths
achromatized, have exactly the same
secondary spectrum. The minor
exceptions are some glasses which
make the secondary spectrum a lit-
tle larger, particularly the flints
•U. S. Patent 2.1$0.«9L O. W. More/,
uiirnetl to the Eastman Kodak Co.
REFRACTION AND LENSES
with the most lead; and a couple
of glasses listed in the Scluj»N^ta-
logue, having comparatively" ’poor
chemical and physical properties,
with which the secondary spectrum
can be reduced by about one fourth.
One more thing should he noted
about glass: Various ways have
been found to raise the index from
those of the original crown-flint
series, without increasing the dis-
persion; but nobody yet has been
able to make a glass go the other
way, and increase the dispersion
without a corresponding rise in the
index. It almost seems that the
crown-flint line, which is marked
with a heavy line on the chart, is a
division line between glasses and
“natural” substances; i.e., crystals
and liquids. All the known glasses
lie above the line: and with a few
exceptions, such as magnesium ox-
ide, practically all crystals and
liquids lie below it. Very little use
has been made of liquids in opti-
cal design, but just as a matter of
interest, one example — transethyl
cinnatnate — has been put on the
chart.
So far, we have considered only
the inorganic glasses. There are
two other types of optical materials
wc should have a look at — crystals
and the organic plastics.
As is well known, enormous
strides have been made in the field
of plastics in the last few years; ajjd
quite a bit has been said about the
possibilities of using certain of them
in optical instruments. Mostly by
men who are not too familiar with
the problems of optical design. It’s
AST— 5K 115
quite true that plastics will un-
doubtedly be useful in some of the
less critical applications. Never-
theless, all those known, at least
those which are sufficiently trans-
parent for optical uses, suffer more
or less from at least one of the
following defects:
1. Lack of homogeneity.
2. Difficulty of producing opti-
cally accurate surfaces.
3. High coefficient of thermal ex-
pansion, leading to a serious change
of shape or distortion of the sur-
faces when changed in temperature
by an amount which won’t bother a
piece of glass at all.
4. Softness.
I want to emphasize that this is
the present state of the art. Cer-
tainly it seems unbelievable that,
among the infinity of possible or-
ganic compounds, there shouldn’t
be a few with highly desirable op-
tical properties, and which wouldn’t
suffer seriously from auy of these
drawbacks. One of the difficulties
seems to be that, with all the work
being done on the many different
applications of plastics, nobody is
investigating them with an eye to
their possible use in high-quality
optical systems. At least, if any-
one is, he isn’t talking.
There is a good discussion of the
optical qualities of some of the more
common plastics by B. K. Johnson
in the Proceedings of the Physi-
cal Society* Two of those for
which optical data are available
* B. K. Johnson, “Recent optical materials
and their possible applications," Proceedings of
the Physical Society (Loudon) 55 , p. 291, July
1943. Two other good articles on plastics ap-
peared in the same issue.
116
might be of value to the lens de-
signers: methyl methacrylate — Lu-
cite — and polystyrene. Lucite has
a v-value of 59, the same as that of
an ordinary crown glass, and an in-
dex of 1.49, which is .03 less than
the lowest index of a glass with
that v-number. Polystyrene lias an
index of 1.595, that of a medium
flint glass, and a v-value of 31,
which is eight less than the lowest
for a glass of that index. Here
are two cases where plastics ac-
complish something heretofore im-
possible for an inorganic glass. An
all-plastic achromat could be made
from these two materials.
There is a good deal not known
about the exact value of using these
two plastics in optical systems. All
the designers have plenty of work
to do with materials that are al-
ready available — they don’t have
time to make comprehensive inves-
tigations of plastics, when no chem-
ist wants to say just how long it
will be before he can make them
good enough for optical purpose.s.
As a matter of fact, it will still be
quite a while before the advantages
of the new rare-earth glasses are
fully explored. Patents covering
various uses of these glasses have
been issued more or less regularly
ever since they were first an-
nounced, and will undoubtedly
continue to be issued for some time
yet.
And that brings us to the crystals.
There are a number of crystals
used for various optical purposes,
perhaps the most surprising of
which is rock salt! Prisms made
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
of large NaCl crystals have been
used for many years in spectrome-
try, because of their transparency
to extreme infrared wave lengths.
Glass becomes quite opaque beyond
25,000 A, while salt will transmit
out to 110,000 A, and sylvine
(KC1) will pass wave lengths as
far^s 220,000.
The chief drawback of using
rock salt, as well as the other al-
kali-metal halides, is — guess ! — its
solubility in water. Which means
that it must be polished dry, or by
using kerosene as the vehicle for
the polishing rouge. A finished
prism is usually pink, from the
rouge that lias been polished into
the surface.
Of the other crystals, most are
useful because of their high trans-
mission in the ultraviolet, since even
the clearest crown glass absorbs
wave lengths below 3200 A. One
of the most interesting uses of
crystals for the ultraviolet was re-
ported by B. K. Johnson,* who
made an achromat out of lithium
fluoride and fused quartz — SiO..
The lens is achromatized for c
and 2749 A, which means that
most of the visible spectrum and the
near ultraviolet are brought fairly
near to a common focus. Another
achromat of the same two crys-
tals was described by Stockbarger
and Cartwright,** who found that
they could make a fairly good cor-
rection of the whole spectrum be-
* B. K, Johnson: “An improved achromatic
reflection microscope,” Proc. Phys. Sue, 53,
p. 714, November 1941.
•*D. C. Stockbarger and C. H. Cartwrights
“On lithium fluoride-quart* achromatic lenses.”
Journal of the Optical Society of America, 29,
p. 28, January 1939.
REFRACO’ION AND LENSES
tween 1800 and 14,000 A. 1800 is
far ultraviolet, just about the point
where the air itself becomes opaque;
and 14,000 is medium infrared,
about the longest wave length which
can be photographed on present
emulsions.
A somewhat similar correction
was made in a microscopic objective
by the Bausch & Lomb Optical Co.,
although glass was used. The two
wave lengths brought together
were the mercury e line and the
strong mercury line at 3650, to
which most glass is quite trans-
parent. Of course the secondary
spectrum is something fierce, but
the idea is that the microscope is
focused in monochromatic e light
from a mercury arc, which is highly
visible, and then the system is cor-
rectly focused for making photo-
graphs in the ultraviolet, using the
3650 radiation from the same light
source. Since the resolving power
is inversely proportional to the
wave length of the light used, this
little trick gains about fifty percent
in resolution.
Some of the crystals have very
unusual index-dispersion relations,
particularly fused quartz and the
halides. These are marked on the
chart. Lithium fluoride has an ex-
tremely low dispersion — n=1.39.
v= 106, ’way off the chart — and
since this and some of the others
can now be made artificially, it may
be that they will find use in future
designs. Dr. Stockbarger of M.I.T.
has devised an ingenious method
for growing crystals of almost any
desired size, and his method is he-
rn
ing used in production by the Har-
shaw Chemical Co. of Cleveland.*
The method was described in de-
tail by B. K. Johnson.
Briefly, Stockbarger’s method is
this : a platinum crucible containing
the molten crystal is suspended in
the upper half of a furnace, which
is held at a temperature slightly
above the melting point of the crys-
tal. It is lowered slowly through
an aperture in the middle of the
furnace, into a temperature slightly
below the melting point. And I do
mean slowly — the process may take
as long, as ten days. The crystal
starts growing at the bottom point
of the crucible, and grows upward
as the crucible is brought down into
the lower temperature.
One more crystal used for opti-
cal purposes is fluorite — CaF 2 .
This one is the payoff! The index
is 1.434, the v- value 96, and the
dispersion curve is almost exactly
proportional to some of the ordi-
nary optical glasses having v-values
around 61. A lens can be made
with fluorite and one of these
glasses, which will have almost no
secondary spectrum at all!
There’s a string tied to this one,
though. Fluorite is found in crys-
tals of optical quality of not more
than a few millimeters in size,
which pretty effectively limits its
use to microscope objectives. Mi-
croscope objectives have been made
with fluorite, however — they’re
called “apochromatic.”
• Available now from regular production are
blanks up to 7 inches in diameter of sodium
chlorjde, potassium bromide, and lithium
fluoride.
THE
118
There arc a number of possible
future developments in the field of
optical materials. The designer al-
ways wants materials of index 1.6
to 1.8 and higher v-values, and of
index 1.55 to 1.7 with lower
v-values. There is no known rea-
son why glasses in these regions
should not be theoretically possible,
but it’s a pretty good bet that poly-
styrene will be made with good
enough quality for optical applica-
tions before a glass can be made
to duplicate its optical constants.
Plastics will undoubtedly soon be
developed to the point where they
can be included with glass in the
list of permissible materials — re-
cently resins containing silicon have
been made, which are halfway be-
tween the original plastics and glass
in physical characteristics.
As far as the reduction of sec-
ondary spectrum is concerned, past
attempts to achieve it with glass
have been disappointing. Data on
the dispersion curves of plastics are
not available at present, mostly be-
cause the plastics aren’t of good
enough quality to permit the ac-
curate index measurements through-
out the spectrum which are neces-
sary. It doesn’t seem unreasonable
to believe that in the near future
we'll have plastic materials, per-
haps even a finer form of some we
now manufacture, which can be
combined with glasses to attain per-
fect achromatism.
Whatever does happen, it’ll be
a long time before the lens designer
works himself out of a job!
END.
ASTOUNDING SCIBNCB-FICTION
THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY
Sorry — I think the Lab better skip this issue. The supply of letters
so far received is rather scant, the disagreement enormous, and results
almost meaningless in some instances. So far, for instance, only about
thirty percent of received letters have voted on “Environment” — but of
those, all but one single vote was for first place! That one put it No. 8.
Naturally, with the calculation system normally used, “Environment” is
way out in front. Otherwise, “Latent Image” and “Winged Man,” also
subject to considerable variation of place, arc about tied for No. 1 posi-
tion. I’ll report next month.
Tiie Editor.
IN TIMES TO COME
Besides winding up “Renaissance” next month, Astounding has a col-
lection of stories with unusual background ideas. “Census,” by Clifford
Simak, is the cover story — a sequel to the series that started with “City.”
(Which, by the way, has been fluctuating from No. 1 position to No. 8
with wild swings. Disagreement on that one was extreme. Some readers,
apparently, saw the background picture, some didn’t.) In “Census”
Simak points out, and handles part of the great difficulty of the ultimately- 1
dispersed culture. There’s a terrible tendency to stagnate—:
Van Vogt, on the other hand, has another type of yarn all together:
“A Can of Paint.” It’s a story about — uhuh — but a perfect one. The
one imperfection being that the man who finds it doesn’t know quite how
to handle the perfect can of perfect paint. (The can talks — telepathi-j
cally!) He spills some on himself. Naturally, perfect paint would be
impossible to remove, wear, or wash off, save with the proper remove rj
And — well, the hero of the yarn was in a nasty position. He had to
figure out what a perfect paint would be designed to do and not-do. And
figure it out within a highly restricted time-limit— -restricted by one of the
natural properties of a perfect paint!
The Editor.
119
The plan teas to invade across
the ages with overwhelming force.
Turned out, though, that Time is
tricky, and a harmless couple with-
out even trying x could annihilate a
terrible army !
Bridgehead
by
FRANK
BELKNAP
LONG
The blond Eurasian giant swung
in between the big doors, and
crossed the room in three long
strides. Thick folds of scorched
flesh lidded his pupils and his eyes
were red-rimmed from lack of
sleep, giving him the aspect of a
lean and angry bulldog straining
at the leash.
“Sit down, Ivor,” a steely voice
said. “Over there, where your face
won’t be in shadows.”
Straddling a chair, the giant
gripped the seat with both hands,
and eased his enormous bulk down
upon it. He sat facing the Inter-
120
rogator, grimacing with pain, fum-
bling for words that would ease the
agony and the shame of his failure.
Invisible lighting flooded the big,
blank-walled room, and glimmered
on the circular top of the examining
unit, which stood against one wall,
and encircled an Interrogator whose
face was a glacial mask behind the
glimmer.
“Well, Ivor?” the Interrogator
prodded.
“My instructions were to famili-
arize myself with the First Glass
Age Sector, particularly the ‘nerve-
artery’ metropolises on the north-
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
eastern seaboard and the popula-
tion overflow areas surrounding
them,” the giant said quickly, as
though repeating a formula learned
by rote.
The Interrogator frowned. “Your
specific instructions were much
more concrete, weren’t they?”
The giant nodded uneasily. Sur-
prisingly he did not feel afraid,
though he knew he ought to feel
terrified.
“My specific instructions were to
blast out a strategic temporal
bridgehead in one of those areas.
What I actually did was pin-chart
the entire seaboard to eliminate the
bulge areas.”
“Well, suppose you tell me ex-
actly what happened in your own
words. I should prefer not to in-
terrupt you.”
“The largest Glass Age metropo-*
lis is New York in New York. But
there’s a bulge there — a bad one.
I decided to blast out the bridge-
head in the overflow area surround-
ing a smaller, coastal bay metropolis
a little to the north of New York.
Boston in Masschutt , , . Massa-
chusetts.”
“Well, well?”
“I blasted out a perfect stasis,
clear and sharp from our side,
but — ”
“But . . . pah. It is a synonym
for failure.”
The big Eurasian paled, then
decided to ignore the interruption.
“The time seepage absorber must
have dilated a little too rapidly. I
was standing about forty feet from
the edge of the cliff when I blasted.
The concussion lifted me up, and
BRIDGET! 13 AD
hurled me violently forward into*
the stasis.”
The giant paused, as though he
were seeking to convince the Inter-
rogator of his sincerity as much
by his manner as his words. The
pause was soothing to his bruised*
ego. It enabled him to dramatize
himself as a man who could time
his feats of endurance to correspond
with the expectations aroused by
his w r ords. It also enabled him to
relive the entire incident with little
more credit to himself.
The Interrogator’s brittle fingers
made a drumming sound on the
flat top of the examining unit.
“Go on.”
“I allowed for erosion, the blot-
ting out of a half million years of
geologic weathering. But I for-
got that a slight seismic disturb-
ance could more than offset a com-
plete reversal of the weathering
process.”
The giant shuddered. “There
can be quite a lot of seismic dis-
turbances in a half million years.
Instead of advancing, the entire
face of the cliff had moved back.
There was a new wall, but it was
thirty feet behind me. I ... I
dropped forty feet and landed on
an outcropping about fifty feet in
width, and possibly seventy feet
from the bottom of the ravine. The
blaster struck the shelf, rebounded,
and went clattering on down.”
“And you returned without re-
covering it?”
The Interrogator’s voice was no
longer steely. It now possessed a
tensile edge that would have ait
121
'through steel like a knife through
putty.
The giant gnawed at his under-
lip, and met the Interrogator’s ac-
cusing stare with mingled pride and
humiliation. The pride of a
wounded tiger "that • has fought
many formidable battles before re-
ceiving scars of which it is
ashamed; the humiliation which a
grievous error of judgment leaves
in the mind when stark urgency
makes the retracing of a wrong
trail a thing not to be contemplated.
“I weighed the risks, and de-
cided against it,” he said. “The
cliff wall was almost vertical. I
might have gone down. I could not
have climbed back. The stasis oval
was -directly above me, thirty feet
from the edge of the cliff. I was
badly burned — in need of surgical
attention.”
“That worried you, did it?”
The giant’s color rose. “Sup-
pose I’d gone down for the blaster,
been captured, and sickened and
died a half million years in the past.
Where would THE PLAN be
then ?”
“Go right ahead. Tell me how
you safeguarded THE PLAN by
not recovering the blaster. Your
instructions were to conceal the
stasis oval from prying eyes on the
other side. You were supposed to
go through, and spray it over with
a magneto-optical thin film with the
same refractive index as the air
around it.”
“I couldn’t — ”
“You don’t have to tell me. I
happen to know you can’t spray out
128
a stasis when it isn’t grounded. The
vibrations would . . . pah! Only
saving grace is the glimmering
won’t be visible from the ravine.”
“It won’t be!” the giant echoed
the words as though they were
pearls beyond price. “You’ve got
to stand on a level with a stasis to
see it.”
“It will be visible from the cliff
top,” the Interrogator hammered,
shattering each pearl with merciless
precision. “But don’t get the idea
I’m worried about just that one
oval. If they find that blaster,
they’ll know they’ve had a visitor.”
The Eurasian’s lips were white.
“How could they know ? They did
not believe time travel to be pos-
sible. Their weapons were all in-
cendiary, not atomic. In a crude
way they altered electronic orbits
and laid the groundwork for much
that we have come to regard as end
products. But — ”
“Like the relativity of time,” the
Interrogator suggested chillingly.
“They were familiar with the
concept, of course. They could im-
agine what it would be like to
leave their own age, and travel into
the past. But they no more thought
they could do so than that they
could travel to ... to Betelgeuse.”
"You think so?” ,
“I do, yes. The concept of time
blasting, of time undermined and
made cavernous, would be utterly
beyond the comprehension of Glass
Age primitives. Quite apart from
the contrasting primitiveness of
mining and quarrying with crude
detonating instruments in three di-
A-STOCNDINQ SCIENCE-FICTION
mcnsion, the sheer audacity of THE
PLAN would — ”
“Pah — a mouthful of rhetoric.
Now you’ve spit it out, suppose we
strip the binding energies from a
few facts. We’ve blasted out tem-
poral bridgeheads at strategic tem-
poral intervals clear back to the
Old Stone Age. The past is honey-
combed now, and it’s going to be-
come more so. Suppose they find
that blaster, blow out a stasis of
their own, and start searching for
our riddlings.
“Suppose they find one of our
riddlings without searching, like the
one you left glimmering in plain
view when you allowed for erosion,
but not for brain shrinkage. If
they find the blaster, they’ll be all
eves and ears. Suppose they close
in on one of our Sector scouts
right after lie’s blown a stasis, and
before he can spray it out?”
The Interrogator had shut his
eyes, and seemed almost to be
speaking to himself. “The success
of the entire PLAN will depend
on how quickly we can move back
and forth through time. If we at-
tempted to conquer each age sepa-
rately, if we attempted an age-hop-
ping campaign, the divergence in
weapon power alone between the
more primitive societies and the
atomic power civilizations close to
our own age might easily result in a
decimation of our forces.
“The struggle in many temporal
sectors may go against us at first,
but, if we' can retreat through the
stasis ovals when we’re hard-
pressed, we’ll be in a position to re-
group our forces. We’ll stage a
fluid attack on all of the past, a stu-
pendous temporal blitz which v^ill
pit age against age until we’re vic-
torious.
“Our enemies will have to fight
in one age, with a limited array of
weapons. We can utilize not only
our own weapons, but the weapons
of every age, the peculiar military
genius of every age in which those
weapons originated. Since the lo-
cation of the sprayed-over stasis
ovals will be knoivn to us alone
we’ll command all the arteries into
the past, all the temporal bridge-
heads.”
The Interrogator seemed to have
forgotten that one artery liad be-
come dangerously insecure through
the development of an unforeseen
flaw in the mental alloy of the man
before him.
But suddenly his eyes unliddcd
themselves and became cobra-
opaque.
“Tell me, how did you get back
through a stasis that was hovering
in the empty air forty feet above
your empty skull?”
“I ... I climbed back to the
top of the cliff and took a running
leap,” the big Eurasian stammered.
“I see. A severely burned man
BRIDGEHEAD
123
could do that, but it would be ask-
ing too much to expect him to go
down into a shallow ravine and re-
cover something that’s sure to be
missed. Suppose you try that on,
just for the fit.”
“My burns — ” the giant whis-
pered huskily. “I knew if I lost
consciousness before I could — ”
The Interrogator cut him off by
leaning sharply forward.
“Tell me, Ivor. Just how much
would you have told them? We
know they were not squeamish.
They had means of getting at the
truth, gradations of torture — ”
“I don’t know,” the giant said,
with startling candor. “We no
longer torture a man when we want
him to speak the truth. We put a
drug in his food, so that he doesn’t
even suspect that he has been sen-
tenced to death. We — ”
The giant’s pupils dilated and he
leaped up with a startled cry.
“COVERALL said I’d feel bet-
ter if I drank some ... no, oh noil
Why are you nodding? COVER-
ALL didn’t . . . no, no, wait . . .
you must wait ! Don’t cut me down
— not like that — it’s horrible that
way, it's horrible, it’s horrible — ”
The compact little energy weapon
in the Interrogator’s clasp tore a
gaping hole in the giant’s chest, spun
him about, broke his back, and al-
most cut him in two.
For a full minute it continued to
revolve, splashing radiance on the
walls and ceiling of the big room,
releasing its energies with a hor-
net’s nest drqne.
Actually it made very little noise,
and the giant was dead when he
,124
struck the floor. But for a full
minute the redness welling up from
his chest gave the Interrogator an
illusion of continuing vitality on
which to vent his rage.
He vented it by keeping the
weapon trained on the inert lump
of flesh until it no longer resem-
bled anything human.
“Things are all right with us
now, Eddie,” said Betty-Jane Kee-
nan. “But where will we be to-
morrow ?”
Eddie Keenan stared straight up
the hill through the windsights of
his converted jeep roadster, telling
himself that now he’d married the
girl he’d have to watch his tem-
per. He didn’t want to lose any
part of his everything, waves and
waves of happiness swirling around
and around somewhere inside of
him. Marriage could break up over
a little rock as well as a big one,
and it didn’t take much to wreck a
cottage in the pines on the crest of
a post-war argument.
“Eddie, I know I shouldn’t say
anything about it. You’ll think I’m
nagging you when I’m only think-
ing how much happier you’d be if
you had a steady income. You
know what they say about a man
who makes his living by his wits.
Of course you’re clever. Very few
people could live as luxuriously as
we do in short jumps and spasms.
Every seventh week we’re in the
chips, we’re jive-happy. Then we
sit on the edge of the cliff patching
up a parachute with I. O. U.’s and
crisp new pawn tickets.”
Eddie gave the wheel a savage
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
twist. "Aw, B-Jane, you’re mak-
ing a mountain out of a rejection
slip.”
‘‘Am I ? The last time you pulled
yourself 'back up by your boot-
straps the girl you married almost
ran off with a psychiatrist. It just
shouldn't happen to such really
nice people like ourselves.”
Eddie gave the wheel another
twist. “How much did I get for
my last gag, B-Jane?” he said
softly.
“Five hundred dollars — for
something with no sense.”
“And how long would it take you
to save that much if I just sat in
a cage thumbing through other peo-
ple’s money? That gag welled up
from mv subconscious in exactly a
tenth of a second. Typing it out
took a couple of minutes, but — ”
“Yes, I know. But who did you
ghost-write it for? A pigeon-
chested crooner who’ll stick liis
neck out so far one of these days
somebody will mistake him for
Thanksgiving’s little gift to Lizzie
Bordon. One of these days he just
won’t be around, but we will — with
nothing to look forward to but a
long life behind a sceing-eye dog
together.”
“B-Jane, the trouble with you is
you’re afraid to grease the roller
coaster. You want to feel safe
every waking hour. There’s no
safety in writing gags at twenty
bucks a comma, but it’s nice work
if you can get it. 1 can get it.”
“Eddie, you’re heading into trou-
ble because people who live by
their wits end up at their wits’ end.
The well dries up, the big, bad, lone
wolf of a late-sleeping, timeclock-
avoiding genius runs out of ideas.
Did you ever know one who
didn’t ?”
“No-oo — Look, B-Jane, that
last crack, about my being a wolf.
You don’t really think I’m a wolf.”
“I wouldn’t have married you if
you weren’t. Oh, Eddie, oh, Ed-
die, oh . . . look out — ”
It might have been a worse ac-
cident. All the car did was leave
the road, turn completely about,
balance itself on two wheels and
slither down into a ditch.
Neither Eddie nor Betty- Jane
was hurt. But the car was in
such a condition that just climbing
out, and ascending to the road left
them angry, flushed and winded.
“B-Jane,” Eddie stormed. “We
were gypped ! That salesman gypped
us! The next time I buy a jeep,
I’ll go down on my hands and knees,
and check on its adhesiveness. If
it’s been over too many cow pas-
tures — ”
Eddie kicked a stone at the edge
of the road, and decided it wasn’t
big enough. He vented his spleen
on the inanimate, allowing exple-
tives which gave Betty-Janc the
most intense satisfaction to well up
from the depths of his mind with-
out worrying about replacements. ,
“Eddie, when you use words like
that you’re not the man I married.
You’re making me fall for some-
body I really could like.”
“That so? You’d like the guy
even better if you could hear what
he’s thinking.”
“Eddie, a big stone under one
of the rear wheels would be more
IIRIDGKHEAD
122
practical than the heaviest sort of
cussing. I'll help you heave. Just
find a stone, and . . . hey, be sure
it’s a big one !”
Eddie had turned and was al-
ready advancing across the road to-
ward a woody stretch where gloomy
looking trees clustered thickly.
“Well, I’ll see if I can find a
stone!” he called back over his
shoulder.
Betty-Jane could hardly believe
her eyes when she saw the “stone.”
It was massive, and it glittered, and
he was cradling it in the crook of
his arm the way he’d have cradled
a gun if it had been a gun — which
of course it wasn’t.
It wasn’t, that is, at first glance.
When he came up over the hump
of the road and she got a good look
at it her incredulity diminished a
little, and she feared she might
have to kiss good-by to her sanity.
He’d been gone twenty minutes,
a long enough time for something
outlandish to happen. But how
could he have wrapped himself in
an . . . aura when his gait showed
he couldn't have met up with an old
brass rail and a row of pink ladies.
Certainly the gun wasn’t pinkish,
and he was backing away from it
and making faces. He was hold-
ing it.
“B-Jane,” he panted. “Look . . .
look at this! Look at it, B-Jane!
It’s some sort of outlandish weapon.
There's a cliff back there, and it
,jvas lying — ”
She knew he'd come straight to
her with the gun because he was
like a little boy in some respects.
426
He just couldn’t keep shining new
discoveries to himself. Most of his
discoveries were subjective, but this
one certainly wasn’t.
It seemed odd to her he should
have used a word that had popped
up out of her own subconscious in
connection with it until it dawned
on her he’d been peppered and made
dizzy in precisely the same way.
Odd — but understandable. The
gun was outlandish, as though it
had come right out of one of those
imaginative science magazines
which Eddie was always reading.
Visitors from other planets, fan-
tastic future weapons, and — things.
When she shut her eyes she could
still hear Eddie praising the super-
lative insight of the writers, as
though the tentaded thing with a
puckered mouth on one of the cov-
ers had slithered right out from the
compact little magazine in Eddie’s
pocket.
“B-Jane, a good many of these
stories are mature, genuine. Not
enough people realize how much
sound science and mental elbow
grease goes into them. Take that
ray gun now. You can bet your
sweet life the artist who drew that
had to sweat holes in his imagina-
tion.”
The weapon in Eddie’s clasp
looked as though somebody had
been sweating holes in the Govern-
ment’s post-war priority program.
Apparently a lot of valuable new
metals had gone into it, along with
some very tensile mental haywire.
It had a startling you’ll-never-
guess-where-/-camc-from look.
B«tty Jane would have preferred
A3T0UND I NO 8C I ENC E-FICTION
not to try, but she knew she’d have
to when she saw how pale Eddie
was. Along with the shining new
discovery look his eyes held un-
mistakable glints of panic.
“It was lying in a pool of rain
water right at the base of the cliff,
B-Janc. IIow do you suppose it got
there? It’s a high-bracket piece of
hardware, all right — complex, mas-
sive. I can’t imagine anyone de-
liberately — ”
“I can!’’ she said, snatching it
from his clasp as though it were
a razor-edged top he’d won shoot-
ing marbles. “Post-war letdown
unhinges bright young inventor. In
the blue Massachusetts hills he has
what he thinks is an inspiration,
lie’ll use the family barn, and that
big junk pile the neighbors are al-
ways adding to.
“Night and day he keeps plug-
ging away, and suddenly — lie has it,
he’s got it! A weapon that’ll sepa-
rate out the fatty components of
Inilk, that’ll churn milk up into but-
ter before it leaves the cow. He
gets all steamed up, and rushes out
into the woods looking for a pur-
ple cow. But suddenly again . . .
you know how crackpots are ... he
gets the idea the weapon is an un-
wanted kitten, and tries to drown
it, in a pool of rain water. Then
he gets scared, or something, and
you happen along.”
Eddie did not even smile.
“B-Janc, if a crackpot invented a
weapon as complex as that it might
not be — a laughing matter.”
“Oh, shut up !”
Betty-Jane was trembling in spite
of herself. The gun was complex,
all right. The barrel flared, and
was so dazzling it blinded her. In
fact, it hurt her brain when she con-
centrated on it, so that for an in-
stant she had the illusion that her
skull was being crushed by a nut-
cracker with invisible prongs.
But the heavy stock was the
really complex part of the gun — a
gleaming conglomeration of notched
disks, wheels, knobs, and dangling
strips of metal so intricately welded
together they seemed to blend with
a glimmering conglomeration of
valves, tubes, wheels and dangling
strips of metal. Welded together
into a compact unit which seemed
almost to blend with a gleaming —
Betty-Jane tore her gaze from
the stock, and tried to smile.
“Eddie, I didn’t mean to snap
at you like that. But I wasn’t seri-
ously trying to laugh my way out
of anything. I don't know where
the gun came from any more than
you do. How could I know?”
The panic in Eddie’s eyes was
growing. He hadn’t dared tell her
the gun seemed to be pointing in
the wrong direction. Not tliat the
BRIDGEHEAD
137
barrel was actually twisting back
up over the stock. It wasn’t as
pronounced as that — wasn’t in fact
anything but a kind of impression
he got when he stared at the gun
steadily.
It had not been in Betty-Jane’s
mind to take any chances with so
strange, so unfathomable a weapon.
But suddenly she had raised it to
her shoulder and was sighting it
along the road. Suddenly, too, her
fingers were moving furtively, al-
most feverishly over the stock, as
though in the depths of her mind
were Pandoralike stirrings.
It was on the tip of Eddie’s
tongue to warn her not to be such a
fool, that the gun was not to be
trusted. But abruptly, before he
could shout a warning, she seemed
to sense his agitation. She nodded
guiltily, and started to lower the
weapon. Her eyes dilated in sud-
den horror —
The two island universes which
had collided inside Eddie’s head
took their time in going their sepa-
rate ways in silence. They left a
trail of blazing super-novae, and
dizzily spinning giant and dwarf
stars, hot, cold, red, blue, and yel-
low — all in the plane of a super-
ecliptic superimposed on the lobes
of Eddie’s bruised brain, and the
little pools of white-hot lava which
studded his spinal column.
Then — Eddie’s torment became
medieval and almost droll. There
was no transition period. Sud-
denly the suns were gone, and very
convcittional little demons with
forked red tails were racing around
138
and around inside his skull.
“Oh, nonsense!” someone yelled
out lustily, and the demons were
gone.
A long row of very beautiful
mint juleps next appeared on the
rim of Eddie’s consciousness. The
rest of his mind was a desert, and
across its sands a parched manikin
that could only have been himself
dragged itself with heaving shoul-
ders. The manikin never seemed
to make any progress. But the
juleps grew more beautiful — more
and more beautiful until the mani-
kin burst into convulsive sobs, and
the juleps turned into tall, pale
women on the rim of Eddie’s mind.
A huge book opened slowly, and
a bony finger wrote on a blank
page: Sorry, Eddie, but we’ve got
to close up. Here's your check,
Eddie — here’s your cane and your
Homburg. Hey, Eddie, wake up ! !
Eddie sat up. The first thing he
noticed was his tom-off shirt,
which was twisted around his legs.
Then he noticed with mounting con-
sternation that his torso was sooty
and his trousers ripped. There was
deep grass on both sides of him,
long, luxurious jungle grass, and
he was sitting on something mound-
lik£ that felt uncomfortably like an
ant bill.
Unmistakably there was a rus-
tling beneath him, accompanied by
little slabs of pain lancing up
through the posterior ligaments of
his knees which were beginning to
dissolve in blobs of light.
The rustling grew vague sud-
denly, and almost he saw the book
again.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“Eddie, Eddie . . . hey, we’re
closing up!"
In a jungle, lie thought drowsily,
you had to expect ants. Tropical
jungle — ants. Long grass — very
primitive life — must take it easy.
White man — quinine — 'sportant to.
relax —
HUH?
Eddie's faculties were suddenly
alert — as sharp as the purple-edged
blades of lush jungle grass which
had grown up about him.
Memory didn’t rush back ex-
actly. It descended upon him like
a pendulum swinging down toward
him through a pea-soup fog. There
was startlement at first, and a light-
ening of the mist, and then it swung
very low with a blazing swish.
An explosion. It had begun with
an explosion. Light on her face
as she turned, the weapon jerking
in her hand. He'd screamed
hoarsely and tried to duck. The
roar had deafened him and then —
Not too clear. His knees had
buckled and there had been — a
glimmering? He’d been hurled
back into a glimmering? lie
thought he had because he remem-
bered a sensation of floundering in
a sea of light that had become sud-
denly opaque. He remembered
nothing else.
He rose swayingly the instant
he realized the gray wall inside bis
head was hindering his explora-
tions. He could see at once that
be was alone in the jungle. No,
it ... it wasn't a jungle. It was a
sort of clearing in reverse. Right
where he stood the grass was waist-
high and thick, but there were blue
distances in all directions where the
grass grew sparsely, and — ■
The road was gone. It shocked
him that he could miss the road
more than his wife until he remem-
bered that the missing road had
included his wife.
A strange look came in Eddie's
face — a look not often seen outside
of monastic cells and the battle-
scarred waste places of the earth.
Almost savagely he told himself
that now when there was a ... a
wrongness like the beat of vulture
wings all about him he’d be less
than a man if he didn’t slough off
the glowing chrysalis he’d worn on
the other track. He’d have to be-
come inwardly lean again, a hard,
tough fighter who could take any-
thing in his stride. With no holds
barred, with only himself to worry
about —
“Eddie, grab hold of me — hold
on to me, and don’t let me think!”
Bctty-Jane was in his arms be-
fore Eddie’s mind could adjust to
the chill urgency of spinning the
leanness out into a cloak to cover
her shuddering approach.
“Eddie, we’re not . . . I’m not . . .
I could never stand it. Eddie 1 Drib-
bling in a straitjacket, being fed
through a tube — ”
“Tube?” Eddie said, dazedly.
Then, as comprehension dawned,
“Of course you’re not. That’s
right — just keep digging your
thumbs in deep. My tonsils are
too large anyway.”
“Eddie, it was pure nitric acid
torment. Am I hurting you, Eddie.
I’m honestly not trying to choke
you, or anything. I just had to
iiRir>GP.nE.\n
129
make sure you’re real and I’m
not — ”
Eddie forced a smile.
“B-Jane, darling, if you were
you wouldn’t be talking about it.
Folks who have it are catatonically
depressed. They’re not interested
in themselves, or their environ-
ment. You’re interested, I take
it?”
"Oh, Eddie, and how!”
“Sure, then, and it’s talking it
over calmly we should be doing,
like the civilized, top-drawer peo-
ple we are. B-Jane, where's that
gun?”
She gestured toward an ingrown
clump of jungle grass at the edge
of the clearing that had bunched
itself up into a dry oasis without
consulting the scenery it had man-
aged to displace.
“Right over there, Eddie.”
“All right. We’ll get around to
it. Just a couple of questions first.
Yon say I was blown through a
glimmering into here. What made
the glimmering?”
“The gun, Eddie. It blew a hole
right through the ... the old stand.
A shining oval in the air. But, if
you stand a little ways back, you
can hardly see it, Eddie. Inside
you flounder. I started to walk
and ended up on my hands and
knees. I thought I’d never get
through.”
Eddie frowned, and shut his eyes
an instant. His furred brow, and
twitching facial muscles gave him
an aspect of watching little spar-
kling triangulations canceling them-
selves out in the darkness behind
his eyelids.
“Nuts!”
“Eddie?”
“Solving anything as insane as
this by car is . . . hold on, maybe
I’ve got something. Maybe I have
at that. If ... if that gun had
merely blown a hole in the air, we’d
still be at the old stand. But if it
iso
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
had blown a hole in the warp-and-
woof stuff of the physical uni-
verse — ”
“Eddie !”
“Where would we be then?”
“Outside the universe,” Jane
whispered, feeling like a child who
has watched her schoolbooks burst
into flames, and must say the right
tiling before the classroom explodes
in her face.
“Well, yes, that’s one possibility.
But if we were in some unimagin-
able dimension outside — say in a
kind of blister-gall on De Sitter’s
skin - of - the -orange - turned - inside -
out universe, everything would be
illogical, mixed up. It isn't at all.”
“What’s the other possibility?”
“Time is a dimension, B-Jane.
Time is a dimension, but — what
would pure time be like? We just
don’t know because we could no
more live in time than we could
live in length without thickness. We
live in a world of four dimensions,
and time is only one of them. But
suppose that gun did something to
time ?
“Suppose it blew a hole in space-
time— the space-time continuum of
the physicists — and made a fluid
bridge of time between two widely
separated space-time frames. In-
side the rent you’d have pure time,
a kind of stasis in the continuum.
Outside — ”
“Outside?”
“Two widely separated ages”
Betty-Jane made a little whim-
pering sound deep in her throat.
“You mean you think we may be
— in the future?”
“Or in the past,” Eddie said.
“I’m just guessing, understand.
I've just knifed down at random
and cut myself a slice of something
that may turn out to be nuttier than
a fruit cake.”
“But, who, Eddie — ”
“Who?”
“Who could have invented a
weapon like tliat — ”
Eddie was about to reply when
he saw in the distance a moving
something which made him catch
his breath and forestalled a still
deeper plunge into the dubious
maelstrom of assumptions his
thoughts had set in motion.
For a full minute the object re-
mained very distant, a scarcely vis-
ible red dust mote advancing stead-
ily over the short grass expanse
which fringed the long grass, for
several miles in a circular direc-
tion.
There was no reason why so
small an object should have chilled
Eddie to the core of his being, and
filled him with a terrifying sense of
urgency. Yet dull him it did, so
that his teeth were chattering when
it ceased to be a dust mote, and
came loping toward them.
Betty-Jane screamed when she
saw it, and suddenly it was as large
as a lion, and growing larger. It
moved almost effortlessly, the mus-
cles rippling along its untiring
flanks, and through every aspect
of its approach there was as much
of stealth as of speed, there was no
sacrifice of speed, and it moved
with the rapidity of a thunderbolt.
Eddie never knew how he reached
the clump of tall withcrgTass where
DRIDGCnEAD
131
Betty-Janc had left the gun.
Neither did Betty-Janc, despite the
sobbing cry of relief which welled
up from her throat when she met
him there.
Eddie snatched up the gun, then
remembered he didn’t know how to
tire it. Frantically he plucked and
tore at the stock, but it wouldn’t,
it wouldn’t, IT WOULDN’T—
Betty- Jane snatched it from him
just as the long grass shook, and
the cyclopean cat burst through
upon them.
She fired from the shoulder, at
almost point-blank range.
There was a blinding flash of
light, an explosion which ripped at
her flesh. The explosion was
Krakatoan, and for an instant
Bctty-Jane was sure that an active
volcano had erupted in her face.
The glimmering seemed to pre-
cede the explosion by the barest in-
stant, but that, she knew, was an
illusion, caused by the fact that
sound and light do not travel at the
same speeds when convulsing.
What she did not know was
whether she had blown a hole in
the physical universe, or just a hole
in the cat.
All she could see was the Cy-
clopean beast etched against the
glimmer, its rust-red tusks drooling
saliva, its unsheathed claws out-
spread.
For an instant it hovered directly
above her, as though frozen in the
act of descending. Then the gap-
ing scarlet hole in its chest became
a gushing Niagara, and it went sail-
ing back through the glimmering
out of sight.
1S2
Before he’d begin his gags Eddie
would get up, pace the floor, drink
three cups of black coffee, light a
cigarette, take six short puffs, crush
out the cigarete, examine his hag-
gard face in a shaving mirror, pace
the floor, grimace, brush the eras-
ings out of his typewriter, sit down,
and —
Then he’d type out the gag, very
swiftly with one finger.
It was curious, but Eddie went
through the same agony now. He
knew the disappearing cat wasn’t a
gag. It was real, and it was —
ghastly. But it wrenched him in
the same way, the torturing despair
of not being sure, and then the mo-
ment of creative frenzy when power
flowed into him, and he knew lie
had something.
He got his arms around his wife
just in time. She’d dropped the
weapon, and was beginning to sag
when he caught her.
“You really hit the keys that
time,” lie whispered hoarsely.
She was sobbing and clinging to
him like a . . . a — Stunned, he
waited, realizing that the shock and
horror had jarred a gag loose far
down, and it was coming up de-
spite all his efforts to repress it.
She was clinging to him like a
terrified little wood nymph in a wry
Scotch nightmare.
“Eddie,” she whispered chokily.
“It was the past I blew a hole in.
That was . . . that was — ”
“I know what it was,” Eddie
soothed. “It was a saber-toothed
tiger. They were big, weren’t
they?”
“Big — ” Betty-Jane’s eyes were
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
deep pools of liquid horror. “IIow
. . . how . . . how can you . . . take
it so calmly?”
‘Tin not taking it calmly, B-Jane.
But there’s something in me — Did
it have stripes? No, no, I guess it
didn’t. Asphalt pit saber-tooths
are all petrified flesh and eroded
bones, so it could have surprised
us more than it did. Now we know.
It was dun colored, with red tusks
and whiskers.”
Betty-Jane was staring past him
at the glimmering. It wasn’t the
only glimmering. Behind Eddie
pulsed the first pale oval she’d
blown in time. No, Eddie had said
space-time. Inside the oval was
time, was time — a bridge. It was
time inside the oval — time to stop
gnawing at her fingernails and try-
ing to swallow her mouth, time to
stop pretending she wasn’t already
quite mad.
Eddie was shaking her. “B-Jane,
listen to me. If you crawled
through into here, we can crawl
back. But it had better be now!
Those rents you blew through the
back of the looking glass may fill
in without consulting us. Where’s
that other — ”
“Right behind you, Eddie.”
Betty-Jane was getting her color
back. She had wanted out desper-
ately, but now that the first oval was
in plain view behind her husband’s
right shoulder her eyes were shining
and she was staring at the glimmer-
ing she’d blown in an opposite di-
rection.
“Well, shall we get started?”
“You mean we — follow the
tiger ?”
“No!” Eddie almost screamed.
“Are you out of your mind? I
didn’t like the old stand much once,
but I do now. I’ve changed my
mind in the last twenty seconds. It
was — is much healthier for people
like us than an age which includes
the scenery inside a cat’s stomach.”
“Eddie how long ago were saber-
toothed tigers?”
“Huh?”
“Please, Eddie, I want to know.”
Eddie stared at her. “Well, the
Machaerodus, the typical genus of
a group of long-tusked extinct cats
commonly known as saber-tooths
prowled through most of the Oligo-
cene, the Miocene, and the Plio-
cene.”
“In basic English, Eddie.”
“Well, we are perhaps a half mil-
lion years back. Or twenty mil-
lion, depending on whether that
tiger was a Nimravus Machaerodus,
or a Hoplophoneus Machareodus,
and what Tertiary system age-scale
you'd like for breakfast. There’s
a terrific disagreement among the
experts as to how old you’d be if
you traveled through any one age
just by aging. For instance, Sir
Arthur Keith and Elliot Smith dis-
agree — in a small way, of course —
about how long ago was the Plio-
cene. Smith thinks the Pleistocene
began a million years ago — Keith
a quarter million. Of course they’re
not geologists, and — ”
“I like Mr. Keith’s estimate best,
Eddie.”
“A saber-tooth might find Smith
just as appetizing.”
BRIDGEHEAD
183
Eddie had found that Betty-Jane
could sometimes be placated by
facetiousness. Even when it was
forced and sounded hollow, it could
sometimes produce an astonishing
change in her. She’d stand back,
and laugh at herself, and stop mak-
ing appalling suggestions.
Sometimes a tiny grain of drol-
lery served up with a straight face
could do that for her. It couldn’t
now.
He knew what was coming be-
fore she spoke.
“Eddie, if we followed the tiger,
how far back in time would we
be?”
“Too far.” Eddie scarcely rec-
ognized his own voice. It was
hoarse with strain, and the effort it
cost him to speak at all.
“Eddie, we could still go back
to the old stand. The two ovals
arc only a few yards apart, and the
one you like best will be here when
we get back. You just now said
there was something in you — it's in
me too, Eddie. A desire to look be-
m
yond and all the way through —
until we’re too old to drag ourselves
about.”
“When you can know more,
when you’re able to, you’ve just got
to! Eddie, we’re going to follow
the tiger.”
Eddie never knew how he allowed
himself to be persuaded. One min-
ute be was standing with his feet
firmly planted on the good late
Pliocene earth; the next he was
floundering through a bog of fluid
time inside a glimmering.
It was awful and he hadn’t
wanted to and — it was awful. He
had to go down on his hands and
knees and claw his way out.
Fortunately the ordeal was not of
long duration, and only his temples
were bursting when he tumbled out
into the sunlight and sank in soft
mud to his knees beside the Cyclo-
pean beast which had preceded him
through the glimmering.
The tiger was lying on its back
with its short hindpaws buried in
its stomach, and the blood which
had welled up from the gaping hole
in its breast bad congealed to a red
film covering it.
It looked even huger dead, and
Eddie felt a little sick as he stared
wildly about him.
He was standing in a bog much
thicker than the one inside the glim-
mering, above him marched a red
sandstone cliff, and closer to him
than breathing was the girl he’d
married.
“B-Jane, why wasn’t I . . . the
tiger . . . why wasn’t I, the first
time you blasted?”
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION
“You weren’t standing directly
in the line of fire,” came in a faint
whisper. “That tiger was. Just
the concussion or something must
have blown you through into where
we were before we came through
into here. Eddie, get a grip on
yourself — you’re not dead, so why
are you trembling?”
Eddie wanted to believe her. But
not helping him at all were the
moon-faced painted devils. They
were squatting on their haunches
in a semicircle around the bog, as
though hoping the two ugly-looking
strangers with no color at all on
their faces would just try and wade
out.
Betty- Jane screamed when she
saw them, floundering close to Ed-
die, and tugging frantically at his
arm.
“Eddie, Eddie, ohhh — baboons?”
Even as she cried out Betty-Jane
found herself wondering wildly
how she could have clutched at such
a straw. The creatures didn’t in
the least resemble baboons except
that baboons were pigmented just
as gaudily in a less refined way.
They wejre as large as gorillas,
barrel-chested, with long dangling
arms and patches of red fur on
their chests. But despite their hairi-
ness they were clasping rude, flint-
tipped wooden spears, and there
was something unmistakably hu-
man, or humanoid, in their expres-
sions. A petulance tinged with
curiosity, a kind of avaricious just-
you - wait - and-we’ll-know-all-about -
you look.
Blue-purple-orange were their
faces, the baggy folds of flesh over
their jowls giving them a weird
otherness of aspect — giving Eddie
the wild idea that he was staring
at the inhabitants of another planet.
Then, suddenly, the truth struck
him like a bomb from a rocket gun,
shedding dazzlement in all direc-
tions.
“Dawn men!” he almost hissed.
“Eddie, they aren’t. No, no, Ed-
die— their faces I They look like
painted buffoons ! It’s just not pos-
sible — ”
Eddie stiffened as though bracing
himself to face the full impact of
an onrushing nightmare.
“Bright pigmentation occurs
pretty high up in the evolutionary
scale,” he said, breathing hard.
“There are blue-cheeked new world
monkeys. The theory, of course,
is that it has some erotic — ”
“Eddie, don’t — I can’t stand it.
The dawn men I’ve met in mu-
seums — ”
“Not cogent!” he flung at her,
almost savagely. “You’re talking
about hit-or-miss reconst ructi on s.
All museums have to go on are
skulls and bone fragments. Skin
pigmentation pure guesswork —
from the Trinil skull to the Man
from Broken Hill. For all we
know there may have been big-
brained Miocene gibbons which
flaunted every color on nature’s
palette.”
Eddie’s own color had ebbed en-
tirely. “Great Scott, B-Jane!
They’re toting zi forked flints — ”
“Is that good, Eddie ? Does that
date them.?”
“No. It means they’ve jumped
the gun on the archaeologists!”
II H I DG EUK AD
195
“Eddie!” Betty-Jane shrieked, wheeling carnival colors dissolving
“Look out 1” in a blaze of light.
The warning came too lat£riHfeB|^^
behind the dead saber-tootl^^OT^^^'j'i iere were times when Eddie
insane blue-orange faces popped.
There was a flutter of red-yellow
palms, and a flint-tipped spear
whizzed through the air to bury it-
self in Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie stiffened, a look of utter
consternation on his face. Then —
he flattened himself, gripping Betty-
Jane’s wrist and dragging her down
into the muck beside him.
His shoulders almost flush with
the muck, the spear quivering in his
flesh, he started to edge toward the
glimmering on his hands and knees.
The oval was less than a yard from
the cliff wall, and protecting him in
the opposite direction was a tower-
ing wall of dead tiger.
There were guttural whisperings
from beyond the cre^t of that lesser
barrier, but no more spears came
hurtling toward him. To Betty-
Jane, advancing at his side, it
seemed incredible — the sheerest,
most primitive kind of stupidity.
The dawn men actually waited,
hardly making a sound, until Eddie
was so close to the oval that his
shoulders were etched against the
glimmering, and only then came
swarming down over the belly of
the tiger toward him.
Betty-Jane fired without taking
aim, swiveling about in the muck,
and sloshing the gun upward be-
tween her elbows.
The concussion spattered mud in
all directions, lifted up the inverted
beast, and hurled Eddie forward
through a splotch of furiously pin-
found himself inwardly dynamiting
the entire creaky structure. The
House which Freud and Jung had
built so laboriously, with a dash of
paprika from the liad boy down the
street. Watson was the bad boy,
and he, too, had missed the boat.
The behaviorists denied, categori-
cally, that there was such a thing as
the unconscious. You thought with
your throat muscles.
Good — a telling jab at the great
black hinterland which was sup-
posed to lurk somewhere inside a
man. He, Eddie, just didn’t believe
in a subjective hierarchy of infan-
tile repressions. Not in the
Freudian sense, he didn’t.
No sensible man repressed his
inmost thoughts, or was ashamed of
them. Yet sensible men had
phobias.
An over-simplification ?
Bah ! the house was creaky from
cellar to attic. Watson was right —
but horribly wrong. The human
infant doesn't just start off with
throat muscles. It starts off with
instincts. Instincts, bundles of them.
Inherited instincts. And why not?
Flow could Freud have missed it?
Children at play don’t secretly want
to murder their great-aunts. They
want to wriggle their ears, scratch
themselves furtively under their
armpits. A long infancy, a long
learning period — no instincts? Bah,
they want to crinkle their coccyxes.
No — the plural is coccyges.
130
A STOUNDINC SCI EN CK Pt t’T I ON
Warmth. On his eyelids, on his
throbbing throat. A tugging and a
whispering.
“Eddie, you’re not hurt — just
shaken up. I’ve got it out. The
flint’s out, Eddie. But you won't
have to look at it. It’s in the lake.
Eddie — this is paradise!"
Eddie opened his eyes. He
couldn’t believe it at first. The
vegetation was a deep emerald
green, luxuriant, but not lush, the
air balmy, the sky flecked with lit-
tle fleecy clouds, and,, as though that
were not enough, the sunlight that
was warming him through his
clothes sparkled on the waters of a
jasper lake so still and lovely it
brought a catch to his throat.
“Oh, Eddie, Eddie, it was worth
the nickel. It was worth it, and
I’m glad they attacked us. I’m
glad they swarmed down without
giving us a chance to stop and
think.”
“Nickel?” Eddie said slowly.
“You know what I mean. We’ve
silenced the juke box. In the right
kind of juke boxes there are blank
records. If you want peace for
five minutes, you put a nickel in
and tunes stop coming out.”
“Oh.”
“Eddie.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“We’ll go back. All the way
back to where it isn't peaceful.
We’ll have to because everybody we
know is back there, and if we
stayed here we’d be running out.
But just let me sit here a minute,
and drink this in. Then we’ll go
back.”
“Will we? Aren’t you forget-
ting those carnival-faced semi-apes
we left squatting around the hole
you blew in the other side. They’ll
be waiting to pay us out. They may
even try to come through into here.”
Betty-Jane paled. “Eddie 1”
“No, I guess they won’t. Dawn
men feared the unknown, and those
glimmerings will he tabu to them.
Tabu, in case you don’t know, is
BRIDGEHEAD
137
the custom of setting aside certain
persons or objects as sacred or ac-
cursed. Those ovals are objects
and will be sacred. But we’re per-
sons, and if vve step back through
and get ’em all steamed up again — ”
Abruptly Eddie did an incredible
thing. He reached over and pried
the gun from his wife’s cold clasp.
“B-Jane, what makes all of the
rare old coins come out of the bot-
tom slot?"
3etty-Janc was staring at him
wide-eyed. "I don’t know exactly,
Eddie. I just sort of played by ear
— the way you did when you fig-
ured out where we’re not."
"Like this?" Eddie asked, moving
his fingers back and forth over the
stock.
"Eddie, be careful. You’ll — ”
Eddie had intended to be careful.
But something he had no control
over deep in his mind, a racial,
hairy-chested something that had a
deep instinctive horror ot going
soft, had its own ideas about para-
dise.
An earth-shaking concussion
moved sideways from Eddie’s right
knee, lifting up his wife, and hurl-
ing her with great violence into a
glimmering out of sight.
“Eddie, Eddie, I can’t stand any
more of this! Neither can you.
Take me home, Eddie.”
Eddie felt dizzy from having
floundered through a dozen glim-
merings into ages that were terrify-
ingly remote. He liadn’t intended
to fire the gun again and again and
again, but every age he’d entered
had made him lose his head.
They’d been simple accidents and
m
complex ones like that carnivorous
dinosaur. Not a Tyrant King, but
a very slender, malign little allosaur
with withered red forelimbs and
a carrion stench. Hideously it had
parried for an opening, hissing and
dodging about with its forked
tongue darting in and out.
They’d gone through from there
to meet a dragon fly with a wing
span of eighteen feet, and a cala-
mite fern so high up the bare little
pinkish fronds growing out from it
had made a dent in the strato-
sphere.
Twice he’d fired in sheer panic,
when they’d been nothing tangible
to put them on its menu, and compel
them to move on. Once he’d given
the gun back to Betty-Jane, and that
had been a mistake.
The Ordovician landscape which
now stretched in all directions from
the tight little lava island they'd
found on the far side of the thir-
tieth glimmering seemed chillingly
unreal.
A reddish mist swirled about
them, the air was sulphurous and
almost unbrcathable, and most of
the distant volcanoes were mere
truncated cones which had blown
their tops; Those that hadn’t gave
off occasional dull rumblings and
lava streams that looked — hot.
In utter silence Eddie gathered
his wife up in his arms, and swung
about.
Going back, there were so many
ways they could have ended up a9
fossils that just passing from glim-
mering to glimmering turned Ed-
die’s blood to ice. It was mostly
ASTOUNDING SCIKNCKFICTION
Just Coffee
and Doughnuts . . .
IT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE MUCH TO YOU.' ■*
\ !
But con you imogine the infinite - joy this simple
^Americon combination brings to a service man over--
seas — served free by Red Cross recreation workers?,
Not only coffee and doughnuts — but all the com-i
forts^of a service club are provided by this organiza-i
dion. \ *
** &
And, you know, the Red Cross is you.' ft is yourt
dollars, your pennies, that pay for the coffee andl
doughnuts, the magazines, the contact-with-home
that the Red Cross provides for him when he needs
it most. \ *
SO DON’T WAIT FOR A DRIVE
GIVE NOW— GIVE GENEROUSLY—,
YOU DO
THE AMERICAN RED CROSS’
touch and go, duck and run, with a
clashing of teeth too close for com-
fort in more ages than Eddie could
count.
In what was probably the early
Eocene there was a distance of fifty
yards between the glimmering, and
they had to flatten themselves while
a herd of tiny, four-toured horses
— family Hyracotherium — clattered
past. They had to sprint wildly to
make it in the late Eocene, when the
horses were larger, and could have
trampled them into the dust.
There was something in the
Oligocene that should have been
much further back. With slippery
belly-glidings it had thumbed its
snout at the paleontologists, and
hung around until it was out of
date. It wasn’t — out of teeth.
Only Paradise hadn’t changed,
and when they stumbled back into
it Betty-Jane gave a little sob and
sank down at the edge of the lake
without bothering to pluck out the
spines an infuriated hedgehog platy-
pus had hurled at her three ovals
back.
“Oh, Eddie, oh — this is heavenly !
I can’t help feeling this age was
made especially for us!”
“It’s just an age like any other
age,” Eddie grunted, clearing the
huskiness from his throat. “An age
of luxuriant vegetation in the mid-
dle Miocene. The Miocene was
just right for our remote ancestors,
1 so why shouldn’t it seem like para-
dise to us? In the Miocene our
kind of folk first started using their
^ hands to develop arboreal dexterity,
and an intracranial pressure area of
dubious survival value.”
140
Betty-Jane did not reply. She
had turned about and was staring
with dilating pupils at the light col-
lecting in little pools on the shore of
the lake.
It was to her credit that she did
not become hysterical, did not even
faint. She did feel a little ill, but
it was a steely kind of illness such
as a huge bronzed amazon of a
woman might feel after plodding
home to her native village over a
mountain of skulls.
When Betty-Jane’s awareness
wasn’t focused on little chunks of
reality, when it embraced vast
vistas tragic in scope, she could be
both strong and great.
“Eddie.”
“Yeah, what — ”
“You’d better brace yourself, Ed-
die. I ... I don’t know whether to
tell you, or let you find out for
yourself. Perhaps it would be less
of a shock if you — Go ahead,
Eddie, get up and look ”
It didn’t take Eddie long to dis-
cover that something he thought of
course would be hovering in plain
view was nowhere in sight. Of all
the ages they’d traveled through the
two pursing ovals had stood out like
sore thumbs. Now there was only
one thumb, and it beckoned toward
the age they’d just left.
Under the shattering impact of
palpably evident finalities the human
brain will often fuse and act upon
impulses oil a lower level of con-
sciousness. What Eddie did when
he turned from the lake shore was
so startling it took away Betty-
Jane’s breath.
He drew her into his arms, and
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
held on to her tight. Then he kissed
her and said, a little huskily: “You
are beautiful, B-Janc. I don’t think
I’ve ever fully realized just how
beautiful.”
Smoothing her dark hair back
from her temples he made a cameo-
like life mask of her face, and stood
a little away from her as though
admiring his own artistry.
“Eddie,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Pve always thought of you as,
well — an escapist. I’ve found my-
self wondering whether you really
cared much whether I am or not.
Right now I’m not looking my
best, and you’re hurting my ears.
Eddie, you’re making me nervous
“I’m sorry, I — ”
“All right, pin my ears back. But
try not to forget we’re completely
trapped. How completely you
haven’t realized yet. If I’m a real-
ity to you, I’m glad. You’re going
to need me, and we’re going to
need each other. Without some-
thing very solid to hold on to we’ll
be babes in a very terrible kind of
trap.”
“I know,” he said.
Betty-Jane seemed to be trying
to spoil the mask he’d made of her.
She’d removed herself from his em-
brace and was kneading her checks
with her knuckles, as though the
putty hadn’t set right.
“Eddie,” she said, suddenly. “In
those imaginative science stories
you tried to make me like, exactly
what happened when people went
back into the past. The paradox
of time travel, you called it. Just
how is time travel a paradox?”
Eddie stared at her before reply-
ing.
“Well, if you went back in time
you’d change the past. Your mere
presence in the past would set a
new’ chain of events in motion.
You've heard about the man — he’s
a bromide now in that kind of story
— who goes back and kills his own
great-grandfather.”
“I haven’t, but go on.”
“Don’t you see? If he killed his
grandfather, he’d never be born,
so how could he travel back and
kill his grandfather?”
“I think I understand.”
Eddie nodded. “There’s your
paradox. The most obvious solution
is no solution at all. You assume
the existence of numerous might-
have-been futures, futures which
still exist in a kind of ghostly
dimension somewhere, running
parallel with the strong, main-line
future you’re going back has
changed. Science-fiction writers
call them 'alternative futures.'
“But that just can’t be the an-
swer, because the instant you accept
it exactly six hundred and twelve
new paradoxes arise. The most
sagacious writers do not accept it.”
“What do they do, Eddie?”
“They accept the paradox, not
the solution. They just go ahead
and write a story with such a depth
of imaginative insight that it comes
out very beautifully in all respects.
Because, if you’ll think a moment,
everything we do is a paradox,
from the instant we’re born. The
white, cold light of the absolute
BRIDGEHEAD
141
-V
turns prismatic the instant it plays
over the little spot where we are.
"When we’ve called that spot
reality we think we’ve nailed it
down. But we haven’t. We haven’t
at all. The right nails are very long
and twisted, and are in other hands
outside the scope of our percep-
tions. It has though . . . well, for
all wc know the main building may
still be in the blueprint stage. Real-
ity may be just somebody’s wrong
guess — a lot of overlapping calcu-
lations on a crumpled scratch-
sheet, tossed aside for something
that makes sense.”
Betty-Jane was silent a moment.
When she met Eddie’s eyes again
her eyes were shining.
"Eddie, I like that analogy. I like
it. A few of those tossed-aside cal-
culations would make sense. Why
waste them inside a crumpled sheet ?
Why not lift them out, transfer
them to a clean sheet — a new blue-
print, Eddie?”
"Huh?”
"A new blueprint for the human
race, Eddie, Eddie — or, Eddie,
143
think 1 If everyone were like you,
if everyone were like you from the
very beginning those mean, acro-
batic-clownish dawn men right up
ahead would have no more chance
of developing into real human be-
ings than a gorilla would in the
twentieth century. When the lit-
tle, romping, gag-writing Eddie
Keenans catch up with them the
stage will be set, and they’ll be out
in the wings.”
Eddie was so startled lie scarcely
noticed Betty- Jane's sudden drop-
ping of her suppositives.
"Eddie, there won’t be any wars
of aggression; there won’t be any
slave empires. The Eddie Keenans
just aren’t mean like that. They’ll
want to dream and sleep, and yawn
and turn over and dream again.
But they’ll work when they have to, .
when things get really bad they’ll
work in inspired spurts. Oh, how
they’ll work to hold and widen their
bridgeheads.
“Lovely Utopias will well up
from their unconscious minds,
great, immortal gags, and they’ll
ASTOUNDING SCIENCEFICTION
make them stick. The Eddie
Keenans are perfectionists. They’ll
take an artist’s joy in making them
stick. Nothing they’ll ever do will
really make sense, but it’ll be beau-
tiful. Oh, Eddie, it will be beauti-
ful 1”
Almost it seemed to Eddie that
Betty- Jane was holding the new
blueprint out in the sunlight for
him to see. She was holding it out
by waltzing around on her toes, her
arms upraised above the living
flame of her body’s grace.
The dark-skinned Eurasian dwarf
swung in between the big doors and
crossed the room in six impetuous
strides.
“Sit down, Mogor,” a steely voice
said. “Sit down, and — let’s have
it.”
The dwarf seated himself with
vigor, and then — his confidence
ebbed a little. He assumed an ag-
gressively defensive attitude the in-
stant he found himself staring into
the Interrogator’s cold eyes.
“Move back — where your face
won’t be in shadows. That’s it.
Now, you followed instructions.”
The dwarf nodded.
“Good. Suppose you tell me ex-
actly what happened in your own
words. I should prefer not to in-
terrupt you.”
The dwarf squirmed under the
Interrogator’s probing stare. “My
instructions were to go back through
the stasis my genetic twin-opposite
blew in the First Glass Age, and
recover the blaster,” he said care-
fully. “But — ”
“But . . . pah ! It is a synonym
for failure.”
The dwarf paled, then decided to
ignore the interruption. “Unfor-
tunately two Glass Age primitives
— a man and a woman — stumbled
on the blaster. To be strictly ac-
curate, the man found the blaster,
brought it to the woman, and she —
blasted with it, blew stasis ovals at
half million year intervals for a
distance of” — the dwarf hesitated
— “possibly a half billion years.”
For the barest instant the Inter-
rogator’s face was convulsed, as
though a high-voltage current had
touched off an explosion at the base
of his brain. He shut his eyes, and
endured — strong emotion, torment-
ing like a live coal, a tiring unut-
terably shameful in a man whose
decisions could not be questioned.
“I didn’t see the primitives at
all,” the giant said quickly. "They
were gone when I emerged from
the stasis, but I discovered what had
happened when I filmed the region
over the subatomic displacement
auras with a unified field detector.
There was an unbroken trail of
energy perfect body auras leading
back into the past.”
“Well?”
“I trailed the primitives back to
. . . to—”
The dwarf seemed to be having
difficulties with his speech. His
flesh had paled, so that his face
seemed almost Caucasian-white,
and there was stark fear in his eyes,
a kind of ingrowing panic which
seemed suddenly to overwhelm him,
so that he faced the Interrogator
143
BRIDGEHEAD
silcnt-tongued, and with his lips
wobbulating.
‘•Well, well?"
“I followed them beyond . . .
where it’s pure torment ... to go.
Two ages beyond, I steeled myself,
I fought what is agony . . . just to
describe. The feeling, you can’t,
mustn’t . . . the ghastliness of not
being right with yourself. It’s like
a tight band — knotted around your
mind — slicing deeper and deeper.
The knots sink in — become em-
bedded. You've got to get out
fast."
The Interrogator’s own flesh had
paled, blit so imperceptibly the
dwarf was unaware just how deep
an impression his words had made.
“I ... I concealed an oval as far
back as I could stand an agony that
kept getting worse. I sprayed the
oval over by crouching just inside
a stasis they’d blown in an age of
luxuriant vegetation far back in the
Miocene. Now if they try to return
to the First Glass Age they’ll never
find the stasis. Y ou’ve got to have
an air-film detector to distinguish
a sprayed-out stasis from the air
around it, and —
“They haven’t got one. They’re
sealed up very far back. That was
all I could do. I had to get out
fast."
The Interrogator’s fingers had
closed around the compact little
energy weapon he’d used to break
the back of the dwarf’s genetic
twin-opposite. But there was some-
thing in his nature which made him
shrink from inflicting irrevocable
injuries on a man who shared a
144
compulsion that was making his
brain reel.
“Very well," he said sharply.
“That’s all — for now."
The dwarf sucked in his breath,
started to speak, thought better of
it, and swung about on his heels.
There was an alarming unsteadiness
in his gait as the big doors swung
shut behind him.
For an instant the Interrogator
stood as though stunned, watching
the doors swing shut. A knotted
cord, he told himself shakily, a
knotted cord tightening and tighten-
ing was — a perfect description of
the sensation he experienced when-
ever he tried to imagine what the
remote past was like.
Why had a revulsion against the
remote past been seared into his
braiii before he’d been conditioned
to perform the duties of his high
office? Why was the remote past
so dangerous it had been blotted
from the memory of the dwarf?
Well, well, he could find out
easily enough. When he knew he’d
no longer fear the remote past, and
— he could go back himself, and
take care of those two primitives.
His hands were shaking a little
when he reseated himself in the ex-
amining unit, and vibrated the
emergency disk of the COVER-
ALL.
The droning which ensued was
abruptly shattered by a coolly effi-
cient voice. “COVERALL. COV-
ERALL speaking. This is Corre-
lator T G 46. What is it, Integrator
V 236?"
“I have reason to believe THE
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
PLAN is endangered by something
that has happened in the remote
past,” the Interrogator said, striv-
ing to sound as though lie were ad-
dressing a subordinate. “I should
prefer not to go into details.”
“What do you wish to know,
236?”
“I find I can no longer remember
what the remote past is like. No,
it is worse than that. There is an
... an uneasiness when I just think
about the remote past. I liave a
feeling that, if I actually went back
to, say, the Miocene, and tried to
blast a stasis oval the uneasiness
would be worse. I say I have a
feeling. Of course —
“COVERALL? COVERALL?”
There was no answer.
There was no reason why his
palms should feci moist. Yet
COVERALL’S silence uvs alarm-
ing. A minute ticked by, two —
“Interrogator V 236?” came
hoarsely, as though COVERALL
were cowering in darknes far off
somewhere, willing in its panic to
risk a quick look around a danger-
ous corner, but not daring to raise
its voice.
“Yes ?”
“This is Correlator T G 49. T G
46 is . . . well, not well. That blot-
ting out of the remote past — it just
doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” the Interrogator
agreed, his voice rising. “If it had,
would I have called you? What
right have you to take that tone
with me?”
“No right, but — I can’t help you.
When I think of the remote past
it's as though a bar of white-hot
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146
... no, no, worse than that. I
won't think about it. You hear?
I won't, I won't it's horrible, and
you can't make melt You’ve no
right—”
The Interrogator groaned, and
vibrated COVERALL out.
The implications?
No, no, he’d have to fight that.
He’d have to stop picturing the
past, all of the past, including the
worst three minutes he’d ever lived
through, as a ... a tree.
An enormous spreading tree with
all of the upper branches shrivel-
ing, dying. A tree already dead,
with only the lower branches filled
with sap. No, no, no, he’d have to
stop.
Just a part of the trunk was
alive, and there were little eager
new sprouts down there trying to
topple the dead upper part of the
tree.
The lower part, where the
sprouts were, went deep, deep down
into the soil, so that the tree was
really like a gigantic ice floe ninc-
tenths submerged. Only the upper
part was dead, shriveled, but the
upper part included the whole
human race, and the sap up there
where the human race was could no
longer go down, down into the dis-
tant roots and interfere.
Something new was coming up
down there, pushing its way up —
small, twisting new shoots far down
insisting on a right to grow and
harden into branches and become
a new tree with wide, lazy leaves,
and a sun-dappled bole. A new —
The Interrogator’s thoughts con-
146
gealccl, and something took hold of
him, and something whirled him
around. Around and around and
around, faster and faster, until on
the circular top of the examining
unit where his hands had rested
were two stringy clots of filmy
emptiness, and where his brain had
pulsed a hollowness impossibly
bright.
EPILOGUE
“Junior 1” came from the palm-
thatched hut in the clearing. “Not
tomorrow, Junior. NOW!’’
Eddie stopped and stared down
at his son, who was contemplating
his toes in the sunlight, and squint-
ing up through them at the swollen
red disk of the sun.
“Junior, your mother is a very
patient woman. You obey her now
and then, I suppose?"
“Yeah, sure. Why not, Pop?"
“Well, there’s no reason why you
shouldn’t. I was just wondering.”
“Pop, I’ve gone and figured out a
poem for myself. Want to hear
it?"
“O. K., Junior — shoot."
“The sun goes down,
And the moon comes up,
But right where I’m sitting
The earth, being round,
Keeps chasing itself like a pup.
H'd’ya like it, Pop?"
“Well, the rhythm and the astron-
omy ain’t . . ain’t is basic English,
Junior . . . ain’t so hot. And you
don’t talk like that."
“Shucks, Pop, I just talk like I
think."
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“Yeah, well, ii is kind o£ nice.
Junior. You thought that up all by
yourself, did you?”
“That’s right, Pop.”
“It was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it was hard too, Pop.
It made me sweat.”
“You like to sweat, don’t you?”
“In a way, Pop, at times — but not
every day, Pop.”
“Well, that’s fine, Junior. That's
as it should be. None of the really
big towns — Rome. London, New
York — were built in a day.”
Soon now, soon, he ll be big and
strong like his dad, thought the big
little girl with the mud-caked
cheeks and tangled, wild hair.
Crouching in the long grass, her
skin berry-brown in the red sun-
light, her mind went back to the
lonely years — before she’d found
people like her own mom and dad
again, after being so long alone for
years and years and years. And
that little boy who only came to her
shoulder now but would soon be as
tall as she.
Years and years, and deep in her
mind was the strange dim memory
still. An automobile upset in a
ditch, and a bright, shining light on
the road, and she a very little girl
climbing through. Then another
light and another light, and she’d
kept on crawling through the lights
and the woods between, the wild
wild woods with the ape creatures,
and then — out into here.
And the funny dwarf with the
bicycle pump and shiny clothes peer-
ing out of the last light, and mak-
ing the light disappear. And the
big ape creatures that had been mom
and dad to her until she’d found
people just like her real mom and
dad had been back when she'd had
dolls to undress, and cornflakes for
breakfast, and Perkins to talk to,
and mom and dad playing bridge
away off somewhere, and then com-
ing home with more dolls and up-
stairs maids and bathtubs, and she’d
had to wash behind her ears.
“Junior! Mary Ann!”
Oh, those brats, thought I3ctty-
Janc, standing in the door of the
hut in the clearing. Eddie’s, and
a green-eyed little minx that wasn’t
at all, even though she’d managed
somehow to come running in out
of the rain, trembling and afraid,
and straight into her heart. A
would-bc glamour girl, and with
Junior not yet forewarned. Six
years difference in their ages too,
and she setting her cap for him as
though she wasn’t just a silly little
thing with wild twigs snagging up
her hair.
THE END.
*********
BKIDGEHE AD
A*T— 6K 14V
Renaissance
(Continued from page 98)
many of you are there this time?”
“Three. This time — ? You
mean there have' been others?”
Ketan asked.
“Many others, but come, my fa-
ther will be waiting for you.”
“It isn’t real. It can’t be,” John
Edwards whispered hoarsely as the
girl turned and they moved to fol-
low her. He had not even noticed
her resemblance to the golden im-
age in his first mystification.
Simultaneously, the two Illegiti-
mates turned to Ketan. “What
does it mean?” William Douglas
asked. “She isn’t real, is she? This
must be more of the visions that
you told us about, and it’s affecting
us all. This rock has been sealed
for over a thousand years. No one
could be alive in it. Can you un-
derstand what she says? I can't
get more than about a third of it.”
“It's rather an old form of Kron-
wcldian. I don’t know any more
about the explanation of all this
than you do. I only know that
whatever it is, is right. This is
what I came to find.”
They followed in silence behind
the girl whose walk seemed to be
more of a graceful, dancing mo-
tion. They passed through the gar-
den beside the fountains. They no-
ticed fish swimming lazily. Strange,
golden-hued fish.
The illusion of distance was per-
fect — or was it illusion? As far as
they could see there were gardens
with flowers and trees spreading
over the low hills in the distance.
1U
A flock of birds passed high over
them and in the distance a rain-
shower spotted the sky.
The garden path took them
shortly into a wooded glen and they
began an abrupt ascent of a com-
paratively high hill. There was a
strange sense of fantastic unreality
about that hill. Even more than
about the rest of their surround-
ings.
Then they found what caused it.
There seemed to be no top to the
hill. It just kept going and there
was no visible pathway ahead of
them, yet the girl did not hesitate.
And then they reached the top.
The hill atid the garden and the
sky vanished and they strode out
upon the marble floor of a high
hallway clown which the girl was
leading them. Her shoes clicked
upon the floor in multiple echoes
that sounded like the beating of
faraway fairy drums. Her grace
was deceptive in covering the swift-
ness of her notion and they had to
hurry to keep up with her.
Their capacity for astonishment
had long since passed and they did
not wonder at the sudden trans-
formation from the garden to the
marble way.
They turned a corner abruptly
and came. to a high ccilinged room
finished luxuriously in panels of
blood-brown mahogany. In the
center of the room was a table at
which candles burned. Upon it
was a sumptuous feast.
It was not until a moment later
that they noticed the man seated at
the table. He rose slowly as they
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
entered and the girl led them to-
wards the man.
“This is my father, Richard
Simons,” she said. “These men
are Retail, William Douglas,
and — ”
“John Edwards,” said Ketan, in-
dicating the mail who had cotne in
last.
“I'm happy to know you, gentle-
men,” said Richard Simons. “It
has indeed been a long time that
we have waited for you. Will you
sit down and refresh yourselves,
and then wc can talk?”
None of the food was recogniz-
able to any of them. The two Il-
legitimates were dubious about it,
but Ketan knew that it was merely
some unknown varieties of syn-
thetic preparations, such as were
known on Kronweld. He found
the dishes very satisfying.
But during the meal, neither the
man nor the girl would discuss the
things that were burning in the
minds of the three men. There was
no word of explanation or com-
ment.
They chatted easily of inconse-
quential things, however. Simons
told them about the garden below
or out, or wherever it was. He
told about the plants that he had
gathered from all the countries of
the world to put in it. Then he
spoke in pride of the room in which
they sat, of the mahogany panels
which lie prized.
There was yet a strangeness
about the two that Ketan could not
name, an elusive quality as if the
man and the girl were actually un-
aware of them, yet that did not
seem to be it, either. They looked
directly into the men’s faces and
smiled and laughed as they chatted.
In fact, they monopolized most
of the conversation, hardly allow-
ing the three men to say a word.
It was as if all the unspoken
thoughts of centuries of imprison-
ment within the pinnacle were pour-
ing out.
But Ketan could not help burst-
ing out with questions. Some were
answered and some —
That was it. Every now and
then in their conversation they com-
pletely ignored statements or ques-
tions put by the men. It seemed as
if they had not heard or chose not
to recognize what was said to them.
Ketan wondered if they were par-
tially deaf.
After the meal, Richard Simons
passed around cigars which Ketan
did not recognize, but the two Il-
legitimates accepted with pleasure.
Then he led them out into another
richly furnished room wliicli was a
library.
The high walls were stacked to
the ceilings with thousands of vol-
umes. The expanse of the shelves
was broken by several excellent
paintings. The deep gray floor cov-
erings muffled all sounds and it
seemed as if a whisper were suffi-
cient for conversation in that room.
They sat in deep, comfortable
chairs and Richard Simons blew a
ring of smoke towards the ceiling.
“You want explanations, of
course,” he said. “You want to
know who we are, and what all this
means. I shall answer all your
RENAISSANCE
149
questions in an orderly manner.
“First, let me tell you that you
will find it hard to believe many of
the things which you shall learn
here, but believe that what wc say
is true. We wish -that most of it
weren't.
“You came because we wished
you to come. You could not have
done otherwise. When you passed
through the Selector an impulse
was planted in your mind which
carried you from that moment to
this. All your life has been lived
with the objective in mind of your
coming to this point. I hope it has
not caused you a great deal of dis-
comfort, but I had to be sure you
would come.”
He was speaking of Ketan, of
course, but his glance seemed to
encompass the two Illegitimates as
well.
So that was the source of the
visions, Ketan thought. And that
was the origin of the driving force
that had impelled and guided him
here. But why ?
Apparently their host was ready
to answer this. “It is difficult to
know where to begin," he said.
“You must know, first of all, that
this is your home. You are of
Earth. Crown World has been only
a temporary setting for you and
now you are about to come home.”
Crown World, Ketan thought.
That was the oldest of all forms by
which Kronwcld was known. He
wondered why the man used it, or
how he knew of it.
“You should know a good deal
of the past history of Earth in or-
der to understand the purpose of
150
all of this. I am not going to tell
you that history. You will find
the details of it in these books that
surround us, during the next few
days.
“To sketch a background, how-
ever, you should know that there
was a time when science and civili-
zation were much greater than they
are now. They were destroyed by
a great war that encompassed the
Earth in a series of destructions
that extended over a hundred years.
It was really all one war, but it was
broken up by truces and armistices
which the people used to rearm and
prepare for greater and more de-
structive wars that followed.
“Because of the high state of the
science of that day, these wars were
increasingly destructive, until such
a cumulative destroying power
arose that it became impossible for
civilization to continue in the face
of it. And civilization did not
continue.
“There came, in time, the wiping
out of the capacity for technologi-
cal production. It was not a sin-
gle climactic event, of course, but
as technical facilities broke down
one after another, they were re-
placed with more and more primi-
tive conditions until an almost
stone-age culture followed. Simul-
taneously, this meant the end of
world war, because facilities for
transportation and communication
were gone.
“A generation grew up fighting
with knives and axes and communi-
cating by smoke signals and run-
ners. And, in the end, they forgot*
what they were fighting for and
ARTOCNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
stopped because all their energies
went into the killing of food.
“You will perhaps find these con-
ditions unbelievable, but I assure
you they existed for many decades.
“The upswing that followed came
rapidly because there were still
technicians of a sort in existence,
and the rudiments of science could
be salvaged out of the ruins of the
libraries and laboratories. Frag-
ment by fragment, portions of it
came back. But something had
happened to the people. They
didn’t want their science bade. A
wave of feeling seemed to sweep
around the world into all lands al-
most simultaneously. It became a
dogma, a religion, and science be-
came the scapegoat for which the
inhabitants who were left after
wars blamed their fate. They
blamed science and technique and
they called their new cult antima-
terialism.
“It was a fantastic, fanatic thing,
but it gripped the Earth. In order
to create communication systems
again, they were forced into the
contradictory position of adopting
certain of the hated techniques, but
they justified it by some sort of
sanctification hokum. What they
actually did, then and there, was
prove that no sodety of any com-
plexity and culture whatever can
develop without a parallel science
or technique to service it.
“But, in the meantime, it was im-
possible for those of us who be-
lieved in the restoration of tech-
nique to proclaim our views. Hun-
dreds of us were killed for it and
the rest driven into hiding.”
Ketan leaned forward. “Usf
Did you take part in those events ?”
Their strange host nodded. “Do
not be surprised at that. I shall
explain shortly.”
“We fought for years,” he con-
tinued, “for the restoration of sci-
ence. But we knew at last that it
was impossible in that generation.
There was only one thing to do,
and that was put our knowledge and
science in storage and prepare for
the future. That is what we did.”
He leaned back and gazed up at
the high ceiling while drawing a
final gust from the stub of his
cigar.
"We came here and built all this.”
He waved a hand to include the
pinnacle and all its contents. That
was more than a thousand years
ago. A dozen years after we com-
pleted our task, all of us were
dead.”
His eyes were watching the three
men with amusement. The two Il-
legitimates leaned forward with a
start, but incapable of uttering a
sound.
Ketan did not move. He had
been waiting for that. Back in the
dining room he had sensed the un-
reality of the pair, without daring
to voice it. But if he gave no out-
ward sign of reaction to the man’s
statement, there was a deeper, more
poignant sense of loss.
It swept over him like a great
wave of some immeasurably lonely
sound. It swelled through the great
chamber of the library and echoed
apd reverberated out through the
marble halls and vast chambers lie
RENAISSANCE
1M.
sensed but had not seen.
Dead was the one word that
went with that lonely melody.
Dead, tliis pinnacle and all that it
holds. Dead, this great unknown
Seeker — and the First Woman.
Kctan looked into her eyes.
There were depths of sadness there
that spoke wordlessly to him, but
then her lips moved, and he could
hardly hear wl\?t she said.
“Yes, dead. I wish I might know
you,” she said. “I wonder what
you are like as you sit here beside
us — a thousand years from now,
when we are only lights and shad-
ows and recorded sounds. Are you
primitive savages who have come to
rend all that we have tried to save
and plunge the world forever into
night? Perhaps not, because wc
prepared protection against such.
“Or are you sensitive creatures
of intellect to whom we have given
survival and of whom we could be
proud if we could see you. We
shall never know, but we died
hoping.”
There was moistness in her eyes
as she looked away.
All the poignancy and hope in
her heart communicated itself to
Ketan. It was like a vision of the
dead sitting beside her, watching
her movements, and listening to her
voice. Every day of his life lie
had passed the thousand iara old
image of her before the Temple of
Birth. Now to see her alive — even
if only in illusion — was like wak-
ing in the midst of a dream and
finding it real.
He imagined the fearful task she
undertook when she went alone to
Cl 53
Kronwcld with the first of those
selected by her father’s machine to
begin life in that world. How
lonely the years must have been
while she watched the little ones
grow. When they were old they
must have built the image from a
duplicate of the key to the pinnacle
which she had taken with her.
But the one question not yet an-
swered was the sterility of Kron-
weld. Why had life never repro-
duced itself there?
Richard Simons began speaking
again. “It is obvious what was
necessary,” he said. “Those of us
who were left — about five hundred
— gathered a sample of every scrap
of technical and scientific knowl-
edge we could find. I started with
the job long before she was born.”
He nodded towards the girl. “But
she grew up to help finish the job.
We located this pinnacle in what
looked like the safest spot on Earth.
The perpetual winds, which our ge-
ologists assured us would not ma-
terially affect the rock in five
thousand years, and which our
meteorologists said would be con-
tinuous until the peculiar forma-
tion that makes than possible dis-
appeared, form a natural barrier.
But it is one that can he easily pene-
trated if there is a good enough rea-
son for doing so.
“A good many of us lived here
until our numbers were gradually
depleted by death. We would have
gone into Kronweld to escape as
we planned for you to escape, but
there was too much undone work,
so we remained. Only Doricn went
through to end her life in Crown
ASTOUNDING 8CIBNCM-FICTION
World, among the first of those we
sent through.
“This half of our problem was
only a half. The remainder is for
you to solve, and if you have not
solved it, or know that you can-
not do so, then you must go back
to Crown World and never re-
turn. In another thousand years
another will follow in your steps,
but that is my charge to you : Solve
tl^ second problem or go back!’’
The man's eyes took on a strange,
steely glint that somehow carried a
nameless threat, a conviction that
lie could yet reach out across the
millennium and enforce any de-
mands he might make.
"And that problem is — ?”
"The problem is the oldest prob-
lem of society. How can man be
governed ?
//‘Here is what we did for you:
we appealed to the war revulsion
of the people and constructed a
series of great machines which wc
told them would forever eliminate
such great criminals as had led the
world to destruction in times past.
We pointed out what changes there
would have been in the world if such
as Alexander, Nero, Attila, Hitler,
Michoven, Drurila and the hosts
like them could have been exam-
ined at birth and their criminal ten-
dencies discovered and destroyed
RENAISSANCE
without giving them a chance at
life.
“With their usual facility for
turning their faces the other way
when a good machine contrary to
their teachings appeared, the anti-
materialists accepted our Selector,
as we called it, and wc installed it
in numerous locations throughout
the world. All the minor instru-
ments were controlled by the large
central machine.
“Wc did incorporate circuits
which identified and destroyed po-
tential criminal leaders, but we in-
cluded other circuits, too. These
latter selected and rejected the sci-
entific brains, the men and women
who could have led the world to
new heights of achievement in
proper circumstances, but who
would have lived and died in a
world of frustration and futility
among the antimaterialists if they
had remained on Eartlu You were
among those.
“This isolation was made pos-
sible by the discovery of one of our
group that there exist parallel
worlds in which the oscillation rates
of the component particles making
up their atoms differ. You won’t
understand that, neither do I.
There’s probably only one man in
the world who ever did understand
it, and now he’s dead. His records
are here, though, if you want them.
“What lie did discover was that
perfectly ‘normal’ matter can be
changed with respect to the fre-
quencies of its component oscilla-
tions and be coexistent in space with
other matter of differing frequen-
cies.
154
“It all adds up to the fact that we
found a hundred thousand other
worlds lying side by side, so to
speak, with our own. Some of
them were terrible, ghastly worlds,
with forms of life that would haunt
a man all his days. Only a dozen
or so were fit for human life, and
the best of these, which was none
too good, we called Crown World
and sent our selected, chosen intel-
lects there. How well it worked
you know better than I.
“It had always been a theory of
mine that if a hundred of the best
scientific minds of the world could
be isolated on an island away from
all influence of the ignorant and
the politicians that they would cover
a thousand years of scientific prog-
ress in a tenth of the normal, his-
torical time.
“I believe that now, a thousand
years or so later, such a society of
scientists has evolved and pro-
gressed farther than the wildest
dreams of my own day. I gave you
nothing to start with. I sent none,
even, of the basic sciences of Earth
for you to build upon. I wanted
you to build both your own foun-
dation and superstructure. All that
you have done is yours and yours
alone.
“Now, the second problem is for
you to come back and govern the
world which is your rightful home
— if you can. If you are prepared,
and if it is ready, as I believe it
should be, take it over, rule it, make
it the paradise that it might have
been long ago except for the greed
of the ignorant and the warriors
and the politicians. Rule as you see
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
fit, but if you arc not fully pre-
pared to rule wisely, go back and
wait another thousand years. That
is your commission.
“And that is all for tonight.
Dorien will lead you to your rooms
and you may rest. Think over
what I have said. Tomorrow, we
will talk again.”
thousand questions flooded
Ketah’s mind, but the girl, Dorien,
had already arisen and was leading
the way out. The figure oi the man
was silent and motionless as if life
had been suddenly turned off within
it.
They came out of the library into
another hallway, thick-rugged and
dimly lighted by a luminescent ceil-
ing. Dorien led them to three
doors adjacent to one another and
bade them good night.
“I think you will find everything
you need,” she said. “You will find
a message left there for you by the
first who came back. Read it care-
fully.”
The two Illegitimates had not un-
derstood more than a third of the
words that were spoken. They un-
derstood only vaguely the import
of the story of Richard Simons.
As soon as the girl was gone, they
came into Kctan’s room.
“What’s it all about?” said Wil-
liam Douglas. “We didn’t get very
much of it. Could you understand
it all?”
Ketan briefly filled in the gaps
they had missed. As lie went along,
the eyes of the Illegitimates glowed.
They were silent a moment, then
William Douglas spoke.
"This is the thing we have watted
a lifetime for. You will come back
— all of you from Kromveld and
take over from the Statists?”
Ketan nodded. “Apparently it
is our dfcHny. Most certainly we
shall come back to Earth, to the
home that was originally ours, ft
is much more desirable than Earth.
"But there arc many problems
yet to clear up. Many I think that
they didn't plan for. Returning to
our rightful place may not be as
simple as it sounds.”
“Of course not. The Statists will
fight, but a hundred thousand Il-
legitimates all over the world will
fight with you. Just give us lead-
ership, bring us the weapons we've
tried to build and can’t. You can
lead the world back to the Utopia
that these ancient scientists vi-
sioned. It’s the dream the Illegiti-
mates have dreamed for three gen-
erations, but they never actually be-
lieved it would be possible.”
“We’ll come back,” said Ketan
with finality, “but first I must Icarti
such a simple thing as how to get
back to Kronwcld.”
"We’ll help you,” said William
Douglas. “I can show you the way,
now.”
As he lay in darkness, Ketan
thought of Dorien’s statement that
many had been there before them.
That thought confused and wor-
ried him.
If there had been others who had
been charged with the same com-
mission, what had become of them ?
Then he remembered the message
the girl had said was left by the
first one who came through. He
m
RENAISSANCE
got out of bed and snapped on the
lights. The folder was lying on a
table near the bed. lie opened it
up.
“You know now tl\e mission of
the inhabitants of the world of
Kronweld,” it read. “Because you
are one of those with the power
and imagination sufficient for the
task ahead, you were chosen by the
great Seekers of old to come
through. They planned well for
us and their heritage of knowledge
will be a great asset, but there were
,a thousand problems that they did
not anticipate.
“The greatest of these is the
rise of such a group as the Statists.
They did not plan any way to take
the governing power away from
such, therefore, we cannot proceed
as we would like.
“You may or may not know who
the Statists are by now. They are a
group of tyrannical rulers who hold
power by reason of the fact that
they long ago learned of the exist-
ence of Kronweld. Whether by ac-
cident or betrayal, I do not know.
The Statists themselves apparently
do not know. But they were clever
enough to infiltrate into the. world
of Kronweld without revealing
themselves as strangers, and,
through the medium of the Temple
of Birth, they have fed upon our
Seeking for well over two hundred
years.
“They are not like us, however.
They are utterly ignorant of the
basic principles of our science. As
you have learned, the inhabitants
of Earth have been skimmed, so to
speak, of the scientific brains that
have been born there during the last
thousand years or more. This
means that those left upon Earth
have existed in an incredibly dark
and ignorant era. Those of the
Statists who have stolen and used
our work are inept and almost stu-
pid in the technique necessary to
use our discoveries. Their only sal-
vation has been the fact that none
of their own have been submitted
to the Selector and, as a result, any
technical traits remaining among
them — which were few enough
after centuries of skimming — are
now preserved. A number of good
technicians exist among the Statists
now'.
“A crisis has long been approach-
ing because they fear Kronweld.
Somehow there has come among
them a legend of the pinnacle.
They have searched long and in
vain for it and they believe that if
Kronweld should ever learn of it
and come through, the Statists
would be wiped out, which is, of
course, true.
“The problem is not simple.
There are many of us who have
come through, now. You will learn
who and where wc arc in good
time. Come to the city, Danfer,
and you will meet me there and
obtain further instruction and in-
formation.
“I am Igon. M
Ketan read the last line and put
the folder down before the signifi-
cance of that name thundered into
his consciousness.
Igon!
The legendary Seeker of Kron-
weld who had first broken through
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
into I in* I .and and Dark Land and
had nearly lost his life and been de-
classed for it ! Igon — so fantastic,
so mythical that many doubted that
he had ever existed. It was at least
eighty tara since he had disap-
peared from Kronweld.
It was impossible that he could
still be alive. The paper of the
message was old. But even if Igon
wet**, dead, what had become of his
plans and all the others who had
come through to conquer the Stat-
ists and reclaim Earth ? Where
were they?
XIX.
He tossed in restlessness through
the night. Ilis mind would not re-
linquish the multitude of interlock-
ing problems.
He tried to go over what he knew
in an orderly manner. Leader
Iioult and Teacher Daran obvi-
ously had been Statists who had
taken Kronweld’s Seeking back to
Earth for the Statist group. They
had used the superstition sur-
rounding the Temple of Birth as
a cloak for their work.
And that, he thought, was about
all he knew for certain. It left him
uncertain as to where Matra had
stood. Apparently she was op-
posed to the Statists, but had she
been one of them to begin with if
the Temple were the channel for
returning the stolen knowledge?
And what of Anetel? She must be
a Statist or at least aligned with
them, he decided.
That left Elta. It was impos-
sible to come to a decision regard-
ItENAISSANCE
ing her. He didn’t want to believe
that Matra’s original accusations
were true, but there seemed no
other explanation. The only fa-
vorable factor was Matra’s strange
reversal of opinion just before she
died. And Elta’s insane attack
upon Anetel.
These thoughts swirled in his
mind n..til dawn broke with a burst
of light through the window by his
bed. A dawn as dreamy and un-
real as all the other surroundings
of the pinnacle interior. He rose
more weary than when he went to
bed, and looked about the room
in close inspection for the first time.
He saw what appeared to be bath-
ing facilities and approached to find
out how they worked.
He discovered the shower con-
trols after a moment and stepped
under the invigorating stream. It
was only water, he found, but it
was good even if not so refreshing
as the chemical sprays he was ac-
customed to.
He found an assortment of cloth-
ing in a closet, and debated using
some of it that approached his fit,
but he decided to redress in the
durable skin garments of the Il-
legitimates.
When he was through, the door
opened and Richard Simons en-
tered the room.
“Good morning,” he said. *'I
hope you slept well.”
“Hardly. There have been too
many surprises the last few days.”
“I can understand that. But sur-
prises are not yet at an end. We
have many things to show you.”
It was strange, talking thus, hold-
157
ing conversation with a man dead a
thousand tara. Ketan could not
shake off the ccrincss of it. Rather,
it was growing on him.
“The thing I am most concerned
[with is getting back to Elta,” he
said.
Again there was that expression
of utter blankness and incompre-
hension on the man’s face. Obvi-
ously, Elta was not a name thnt
would actuate any of the multitude
of recorded responses. While he
stood there, Ketan moved forward
and passed his hand clear through
the man’s midriff.
“Yes,” Richard Simons smiled
ruefully. “I am nothing but light
and shadow and sound — and cer-
tain other radiant effects that make
it possible to pick up things and ex-
ert pressure. But it is best this
way, is it not? I think you would
rather have me conduct you about
‘in this manner than listen to only
the sound of my voice in these
empty halls."
"Much rather," said Ketan.
He started out the doorway. “Do
not think of me as one dead.
Though my body disintegrated a
millennium ago, I have guided you
here. I have governed your life to
the extent of leading you to a great
destiny. I cannot be dead if I am
capable of that, can I ?’’
“No. . . no, you can’t.” And
Ketan suddenly knew that what the
man said was true. This hall, this
pinnacle, its precious storage of the
science of his home world — none
of it was dead. It was the most
vitally living creation in all this
dim and dying world. It was a
iss
spark of life that would infuse it-
self into Kronweld, and unite the
two worlds in a glory of existence
that no man had ever dared dream
of. No man is ever dead, thought
Ketan, who can still guide the lives
of others through his works.
They were joined by the two Il-
legitimates who looked as if they
had rested much better than had
Ketan. There was a reason why
they should. They saw ahead the
end of all their problems and the
fulfillment of the hopes of their na-
tion. Ketan saw only the begin-
ning of his.
In a moment they were joined
by Dorien who was dressed this
morning in a trim, white garb that
set off her ebon, flowing hair with
intense contrast.
“Where are you taking them?”
she asked her father.
“I thought we’d go down to the
laboratory this morning. They
must see our collection there.”
“Our wax museum — ” Dorien
laughed.
“Dorien, please — ”
It was evident that the girl had
an easy familiarity with their work
which was not shared by Richard
Simons. He was intensely serious,
as Ketan knew ho well might be,
over the importance of what they
were doing. But Ketan was glad
that Dorien was able to laugh. It
made them all feel better.
They wound through passages
and down moving stairways, until
Ketan made no attempt to keep
track of where they were going.
He ceased all wonder about the
ASTOUNDING SCIENCH FICTION
relative size of the interior and ex-
terior of the pinnacle.
They came at last upon a balcony
that overlooked an enormous cham-
ber below. There must have been
two thousand men at least, work-
ing over laboratory tables and
masses of equipment built up on the
floor. Some few were in groups,
but most of them seemed to be
working alone and in silence ex-
cept for the click of glassware as
equipment was set up or disman-
tled.
“What are they doing?” Ketan
exclaimed. “I thought there was
no one here, but yourselves.”
Richard Simons remained silent
for a moment. “These men arc
like us — Dorien and I. But they
arc no more dead than we, for
their work has influenced a million
million lives — and will influence
yours and billions more. These are
the scientists of Earth, the great-
est of them, who discovered most
of the knowledge that man had mas-
tered up to the time of the building
of the repository here in the pin-
nacle. Come down and meet some
of them.”
There was a strange appearance
about the group of workers in the
room. They were dressed in a va-
riety of garbs that lent them all a
weird incongruity.
Richard Simons led the way to-
wards a corner where a white-
haired old man, clad in a simple
white robe, sat before a rough ta-
ble scrawling on a rough, brown-
ish substance.
“His name is Archimedes,” said
Richard Simons. “He is trying to
improve an ontager for the battle
of Syracuse.”
The old man looked up at the'
sound of their voices. There was
a dreamy look in his eyes, mingled
with the worry and fear there.
“If I could only stand a hun-
dred thousand men in one place,
what power I would have,” he mur-
mured.
"Why men?” Ketan burst out.
"You could use — ”
Richard Simons touched Ketan’s
arm gently. “He wouldn’t under-
stand. He is Archimedes as he
was. Nothing but the power of
men and animals and heat and fall-
ing objects was known in his day.
Come over to a later era. This
man’s name is Michael Faraday.
He discovered the principle of elec-
tric current generation.”
A thin- faced man of medium
build looked up as they approached.
He was in shirt sleeves and knee-
length pants. Ilis neatly waved
mat of white hair looked some-
how artificial to Ketan.
"Hello, Richard,” he said.
“Hello, Michael. You look a bit
annoyed this morning.”
“Annoyed ! I gave a lecture last
night and some fool woman came
up after the demonstration and
asked what this was good for.” He
pointed towards a disk fitted with
a crank that would spin it between
the tips of a horn-shaped piece of
metal.
Michael Faraday chuckled. “Can
you guess what I told her? I said,
‘Madam, can you tell me what a
new born baby is good for?’ She
left me without another word.”
1S9
RENAISSANCE
They chuckled with him and
turned away.
“I want you to know them,’* said
Richard Simons. “Come here
often. Talk to all of them. They
can understand you because their
language has been adjusted to
yours, though originally they spoke
a hundred different ones.
“I want you to find out what they
are doing, and why. Here are the
men who tried to raise a world up
to the stars, and failed because of
the ignorance and stupidity that
blocked their way. I want you to
learn from them, because you must
go the same path and succeed where
they failed.
“They will always be here, work-
ing over and over upon the things
that the world remembered them
for, and for which they still live.
There's Edison over there, trying
to hear his phonograph with a
slightly deaf ear. Sometimes he
turns it on so loud that it annoys
Einstein across the table. Get to
know them all. They’re my
friends, and the friends of every
man.”
Up on the balcony again, Ketan
looked down upon the assemblage
of figures that represented the great
Seekers of a w'orld. He knew that
the scientists who had built this
replica and created these figures had
not done so for idle show. Here
was something of paramount im-
portance for the Seekers of Kron-
.weld who were yet to come.
They would meet and know the
Seekers of Earth as if they had
worked with them, and they would
160
learn their dreams and ambitions
atid gain strength to carry them
out.
“Now the library,” said Richard
Simons.
They passed through other cor-
ridors and came to a long, narrow
room with a table that would seat
over a hundred men. Upon the
table, before each seat was a small
view plate and a keyboard of col-
ored and numbered buttons.
“Behind these walls,” said Rich-
ard Simons, “are the photographic
records of a hundred million books.
This was our greatest task. We
spent the majority of our time, se-
cretly roaming the world, salvag-
ing the books that men had written.
Because there were so many copies
of each, they could not all be de-
stroyed even by the tremendous
bombing and burning of the wars.
We preserved them on film, and
then built this library.
“A manual index indicates to you
what is available on any given sub-
ject. Then, with the indicated in-
dex number, you order that film au-
tomatically fitted into your viewing
machine. Thus, you may sit in one
of these positions here and read
any of the one hundred million
volumes with only a few seconds
required to change from one to an-*
other.
“We planned that this room
should some day be filled with scien-
tists from Crown World day and
night, learning the heritage of their
homeland.”
Ketan sat down at a position and
experimentally pushed a series of
buttons. In a moment the screen
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION
lighted with the image of a page.
He found it difficult to read.
That vastness of the accumulated
writings awed him. More than one
man’s lifetime would be required
to investigate even a fraction of
what was stored there.
He was about to speak, but Rich-
ard Simons went on, “There is one
other chamber that you must see
this morning, our museum.”
It was adjacent to the library.
Like the library it was so vast in
extent that it would not allow a
vision of details. There were sam-
ples of hoarded machines and arti-
facts representing every art of an-
cient man. Machines of transpor-
tation, communication, manufacture
— the scientists had gathered them
out of the ruins of a world for a
testimony of the once great heights
to which man had risen.
“It is too much!” exclaimed
Ketan. “I have seen more than
enough. There is no purpose in
my viewing more of the remains of
my home world. Let me go back
to Kronweld, and bring Kronweld
here to these things.”
"Then follow the way that Jgon
has prepared,” said Richard Si-
mons. “Do not fail !”
Before he left, Ketan went back
to the first library and made a se-
lection of volumes to take to Kron-
weld as evidence of the story he
would have to tell.
Like emerging from paradise into
hell, they went out into the desert
again, where the sky was smoky
with sand and the sun blurred by it.
They found their horses hob-
bled and tethered. They were pro-
tected by heavy blanketing of some
unknown texture, and they had been
watered and fed. Ketan and the
Illegitimates did not stop to pon-
der the miracle. It was the final
manifestation of the pinnacle.
They replaced the tiny golden im-
age in the recess and balanced it
as before. The huge stone plug
that had fallen away slowly swung
down and blocked the opening once
more. They shoveled the sand
back over the projecting pyramid.
The sky was hot and burning
through the shield of sand clouds.
They covered their faces with
moistened rags and turned back to-
wards the gap between the mesas.
Unerringly, Ketan’s direction sense
in relation to the pinnacle led them
back along the way they had come.
Because they had started very late,
it was near morning when they
reached the canyon gap that lccl out
of the drifting sands into the mild-
ness of that other desert.
“We may as well stop and rest
for the day,” John Edwards sug-
gested. "If we travel at night, it
will be cooler. It looks like it’s a
furnace out there now.”
William Douglas and Ketan
agreed. They felt the need of rest,
and Ketan, in spite of the urgency
of his mission, wanted time to
think.
It was William Douglas who was
the most impatient. “What do you
intend to do next, Ketan? What
did those writings say?”
They were sitting by the camp-
fire eating their evening meal.
“Those instructions were written
RENAISSANCE)
101
by Igon who disappeared from
• Kronwcld over ninety years ago.
Whatever validity they had then is
surely gone, now. Igon is undoubt-
edly dead. If there is an organiza-
tion of those who have come from
Kronweld to the pinnacle, I am
supposed to contact them, but I
.wonder if they haven’t been discov-
ered by the Statists and defeated
long ago. Surely there would have
been some evidence of their action
by now. Igon would have carried
a plan into effect during his life-
time if it were physically possible.”
“But the instructions wouldn’t
have remained in the pinnacle if
i««
they were no longer effective.”
“There is no reason why they
should have been removed. After
all, everything there is only me-
chanical in operation. Apparently
Igon went through there and man-
aged to make some progress to-
wards a plan. Then he went back
to the pinnacle and left these in-
structions, altering the controls on
the images of Richard Simons and
his daughter so that they would
bring the instructions to the atten-
tion of any who came after him.
He died and his plan failed, and
the instructions merely remained.”
William Douglas shook his head.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“I hardly think it is as simple as
that. Those images were set up
too welL If they could respond to
the unexpected questions and state-
ments of our conversation as they
did, surely they would have better
control over circumstances sur-
rounding the instructions. What
did they tell you to do?"
“I am to go to the city of Danfer
where the central Selector is lo-
cated. There I am to meet Igon —
which is obviously impossible. If
he were alive, I would receive fur-
ther instruction there.”
“Perhaps he is alive in the same
sense that Richard Simons is.”
“I’ve thought of that, but if he is
nothing but a walking image of
light and sound, he can't be an ef-
fective force in overthrowing the
Statists.”
“Maybe that’s your job.”
“I don’t know. If so, what hap-
pened to the others who came
through ?”
“At any event, you are going?”
“I am going back to Kronweld,”
said Ketan. “That is the first con-
cern I have now. I am going to
find Elta if she is alive. If she is
not, I’ll spend my life avenging her
death if I have to destroy Kronweld
and Earth to do it.”
“I will go with you to Danfer
then. That is the only way back
to Kronweld. Perhaps you will
find something more of this Igon,
there. It is fortunate that you re-
ceived a brand as you went through
the Selector. They won’t question
you on that count, anyway.”
Ketan glanced down at the pur-
ple mark upon his arm, about
which he had so often wondered,
and nodded.
During that night, while they
rode slowly across the desert, and
the next night when they went back
into the hills, Ketan was assailed
by a sense of futility as if all he
could do now were in a lost cause.
He traced the feeling to the epi-
sode in the pinnacle, to the dis-
covery that the great and legendary
Igon had passed that way at least
eighty tara before — and obviously
failed to carry out the mission as-
signed to him. If Igon had failed,
how could Ketan hope to succeed
in that task?
One slight posibility that offered
hope was that Igon had seen the
impossibility of accomplishing the
task and had not tried, but waited
for another to be assigned to it at
a more opportune time. That
seemed unreasonable, however, in
view of the instructions he had left.
Possibly they had tried and failed.
Possibly a great number had come
through the pinnacle and had pro-
duced a mighty effort to overthrow
the Statists and reclaim Earth —
and failed.
These were only more unan-
swered and perhaps unanswerable
questions to be added to the ones
already piled upon him. He
searched in his mind and in his
heart for a course of action to fol-
low.
When he placed the question di-
rectly to himself, devoid of all
emotional response, it became clear
that his way wds as plainly marked
before him now as it had been from
RENAISSANCE
163
Kronweld to the pinnacle. He won-
dered if some influence still were
upon him, guiding him.
He would go first to the forest
villages of the Illegitimates to rest
and prepare for the journey to
Danfer and to enlist the aid of the
Illegitimates. He had to have them
as allies, lie had to have their faith
and independence and devotion to
freedom to mix with the passivity
and Seeking of Kronweld.
He would go' then to Danfer, find
a way to go through to Kronweld.
lie would find Elta, but regardless
of her fate, lie would carry out his
original intention of exposing and
destroying the Temple of Birth,
lie would show it for what it was:
Merely a gateway back to the world
from which they had come.
Kronweld would be convinced
then. They could not cry down the
evidence he had to show them. lie
was sure of that. With the aid of
the Un registered s, he would be sure
of convincing Kronweld.
That was the course, then. lie
would lead his people back to Earth.
At the pinnacle and in the villages
of the Illegitimates, they would
learn of their heritage. They
would plan together, not just he
alone, how they could overthrow
the Statists.
It did not seem so difficult. Once
he had outlined the course in his
mind, it seemed certain of fulfill-
ment and a new’, uplifting elation
filled him.
But it did not last for long. If
the problem were that easy, why
had Igon failed?
164
XX.
They traveled part of that day
so that they came into the village
about midnight.
Ordinarily the village would have
been dark, with only the immobile
shapes of sentries indistinguishable
from the black shadows of the for-
est, but unaccountably there were
hundreds of pin points of lights
and an all encompassing blob of
light that marked the location of the
village now.
An exclamation burst from the
throat of William Douglas. “The
Statists — raiding again!”
He spurred his horse. The tired
animal leaped into a long stride that
carried its body closer to the Earth
in a hurtling shadow through the
trees. Almost before Ketan rea-
lized it, William Dougles was out
of sight around a bend, then he dug
his heels inexpertly into the sides of
his own horse.
He clung to the animal’s back as
it picked up speed and rocked him
crazily with its flight along the trail.
Behind him he heard John Ed-
wards shouting at him, but he
couldn't hear the words in the wind
and the sound of horses’ hoofs.
It was only when the second Ille-
gitimate forced him over to one
side and sped past that he knew
John Edwards wanted him to get
out of the way.
Despite his slower pace he could
now see William Douglas’ silhouette
on the trail far ahead and spurred
his animal faster.
He was still faraway when he
saw that whatever the burning was,
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FTOTTON
the village itself was not on fire.
Distinctly, the outlines of the crude
houses stood out against the fire-
light.
And now, as he came closer, lie
heard a sound upon the air. It was
a sound produced by human throats,
but that was all. It was not a sound
that could be produced by human
beings. It was a wild, animal sound
that chilled him like the smell of
dead or the sight of evil. It was a
sound made under the direction of
torn, demented minds that had lost
all claim to humanity.
The villagers were making that
sound. Fighting down his revul-
sion at the screaming fury that
poured over him, he drove the horse
onward.
He came through the outer edge
of the village and rode down a
crooked street. Then, before him,
he beheld the mob of howling Ille-
gitimates. They were gathered in
the central square of the village
about a flaming pile, whose light
was surging up swiftly.
“What — V* he began. Then he
saw William Douglas beside him.
“Come away,” the Illegitimate
leader said softly. “You shouldn’t
see this.”
“Shouldn’t see what? What arc
they aoing?”
But before he could answer, Ke-
tan saw the object of fury that was
beginning to be bathed in the rising
flames. There was a stake m the
center of them and a human being
was bound to it.
A choked cry burst from Ketan’s
throat. “William Douglas! Stop
them ! Do you see what they, are
doing?”
“It's a Statist they captured to-
day. A spy someone says. You
couldn't stop them. They’d tear
you to pieces and burn you, too.
I couldn’t stop them, they’d kill me,
first.”
Sickened, Ketan turned once again
to look at the pyre. Then lie saw
the head of the bound figure raise
and a cry came from its throat. He
stared, petrified, and the world
stopped.
It was Elta.
Ketan did not reason his next
actions. There was no room for
reasoning or thought within his
mind. Instinct directed him to seize
the coil of rope that hung on Wil-
liam Douglas’ saddle beside him.
With a wild, animal cry he reined
the horse up and slashed at its flanks
with the coil of rope.
The rearmost of the mob turned
— just in time for the hoofs of the
horse to crash into their faces. The
horse leaped into the throng, with
Ketan lashing savagely at its sides.
The mol) parted in terror before
his onslaught for an instant. But
only for an instant. The inhuman
cries he had heard before were
turned upon him now and hands
reached up to drag him down. He
kicked out and felt bone crush be-
neath his feet. From side to side he
slashed wth the coiled rope that
was now bloody where it had laid
faces bare to the bone.
There was nothing remaining
there of Ketan, the Seeker from
Kronweld. There was only a sav-
165
RICN’AISSAXCE
age, fear demented animal upon the
horse’s back. Ketan’s cries matched
and exceeded the Illegitimate’s in
animalness and his voice was heard
above theirs.
Slowly, they began to fall back
in sheer awe at the fury riding in
their midst.
From his own pack, Ketan
reached down to withdraw a short
knife. He was nearly to the fire,
now. A few more steps and he
could cut the bonds from Elta.
As he leaned over to reach in the
pouch, the horse sagged under the
sudden weight of one of the mob
that leaped on his back. With a
stone in hand, the man clubbed at
Ketan’s head. It struck a glancing
blow and opened a long channel of
blood down the side of his face.
Reason mingled with emotion and
Ketan leaned over farther, expos-
ing his head and neck to the blows.
Then as the assailant drew back for
a final blow, Ketan drew out the
knife in a single long arc that ended
in the enemy’s side. He wrenched
the knife viciously out of the wound
as the man fell.
There was blood covering his
hand and it streamed down his face
and neck. He could feel the warmth
of it inside his leather shirt. All
the conditioning of Kronweld fell
away from him then and the red-
ness and the smell of the blood was
like a drug in his throat.
He lunged about, looking for any
more who dared attack from the
rear. Automatically he dodged a
heavy stone and watched it drop on
the other side, felling a mobster
with a blow in the temple.
lec
The horse seemed to share his
own blood lust. With sharp
screams it pawed the air and lunged
upon the attackers. Just in time,
Ketan saw a hand bearing a knife
towards the horse’s exposed belly
and the coil of rope swept down to
obliterate the face of the man that
held it.
lie was near enough now to feel
the intensity of the flames, to see
that Elta was hanging limp with
her eyes closed, overcome by the
smoke and the heat that billowed
about her. Her dress — an idle part
of Ketan’s mind noted that it was
her induction robes — was browned
and beginning to burn. With fury
that rose with the flames, he lashed
unmercifully the horse’s flanks. He
leaned down and stabbed a man in
the throat and crushed another’s
face with his boot.
Then the horse screamed and
surged away from the flames. Ke-
tan turned the coil again upon its
flanks and reined it nearer until its
forelegs rose in the air and smashed
down into the burning wood, scat-
tering embers into the mob.
He slashed out once and a por-
tion of the bonds parted. He
screamed out Elta’s name to keep
her from falling upon her face into
the flames, but she could not hear
him.
The horse lunged away again,
whimpering in terror and Ketan
laid open the flesh of its flanks. He
drove it nearer and threw a loop
about the post above Elta’s head
and twisted it about the pommel of
the saddle.
The heat of the fire was agoniz-
ASTOUNDING SCIENOE-P TCfclON
ing. It seared his throat and
scorched his lungs. lie could smell
the hair of his head and upon his
anus burning.
While the mob howled in fren-
zied frustration he hacked at the
ropes. The horse screamed and
lunged in the flames until it nearly
uprooted the post. *
Then Elta was free. Her sudden
weight as she sagged away from
the post almost unseated Ketan and
plunged him into the white-hot em-
bers below. It was a superhuman
effort that held him in the saddle
and allowed him to drag Elta’s un-
conscious form across the horse.
He cut away the loop and burst
away from the flames.
If the cries of the mob had been
savage before, there was no name
for the frustrated howl that rose
into the night as they saw Ketan
bearing the limp body of Elta away
from the fire.
Renewed in insanity, they came
at him again and surged about the
burned and wounded flanks of the
horse. Burdened now by the ad-
ditional weight of the girl, the horse
slowed and came to a near halt in
the midst of the sea of hate.
Ketan struck out with renewed
savagery, but lie knew instinctively
that his handicap of Elta’s uncon-
scious form was too great. It would
be only a matter of moments now.
They were surging forward with
clubs and beat upon his legs and
body and struck at the horse. His
entire attention was spent diverting
blows away from the still form of
Elta.
He was glad with a part of his
mind that this had happened be-
fore lie made the terrible mistake of
turning the Seeking of Kronwcld
over to these savages. It would be
a thousand times better in the hands
of the Statists than here. Perhaps
the Statists were not what the Ille-
gitimates had pretended at all.
True, there was the series of inci-
dents in Kronweld to indicate the
Statists were enemies. In any
event, when Kronweld did come,
they would crush both Statists and
Illegitimates alike.
lie did not notice the other nu-
cleus of battle and confusion until
it was almost upon him. He heard
the rising thunder of a bellowing
voice in his ear, and the wave of
mob cry slowly ebbed. He turned
to see William Douglas and John
Edwards battling towards his side.
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167
The great, rolling voice of Wil-
liam Douglas was surging out above
the cries about him, drowning them,
subduing them, all but the knot of
attackers surrounding him.
William Douglas reined the horse
up and brought its forelegs crash-
ing down upon the backs of the
outermost ring. His hand swung a
great club about his head, bringing
it down in lightning strokes that
crushed skulls.
“Stop ! Listen to me !” His
voice bellowed. Now the thudding
of his club against heads could be
beard above the sound of the mob.
They fell back, dazed and uncom-
prehending, drained of the emotion
that had ignited them and wearied
of trying to match the berserk fury
in theii midst.
The three on horseback seemed
reluctant to cease their clubbing and
slashing but any more would have
been like beating a dead body.
William Douglas rose in his sad-
dle. “These two have come back.
Back from beyond the Selector.
Do you know what that means?”
The terrified silence of the now
frightened villagers was as if a
sudden vacuum had appeared to
cancel all sound. Then William
, Douglas went on in a lower voice
that still carried to the outermost
fringe of the gathering.
As if he sensed the thoughts that
were in Ketan ’s mind, he said, “For
three generations we have waited
and hoped for the return of those
who have gone through, hoping for
the heritage of liberation that we
believed they might bring us. To-
night you have forfeited all right
168
to that heritage. You deserve to
gnib and slave for ten times three
generations for this night.
“Go to your homes!”
Like a whispering, retreating
wave, they dispersed so swiftly that
it was almost impossible to see
where they had gone. Ketan raised
Elta in his arms and followed as
William Douglas led the way
through the deserted streets — de-
serted except for the two score
dead that lay sprawled upon them.
The silence was like the calm on
the eve of a hurricane, quiet, por-
tentous, hot and breathless. Ke-
tan’s hate still burned. He knew
that it would never die. No means
of extermination would be too un-
merciful for these barbarians.
William Douglas did not speak
until they came to the end of the
straight, narrow’ street to the house
where he had stayed. “We will
stay here,” he said. “Elta will be
cared for. I will get Carmen to
come.”
Ketan said nothing. Though the
two Illegitimates had fought for
him and saved his life he could not
forget that they were Illegitimates
and that William Douglas had only
wanted to keep him from seeing the
burning, until lie found out who it
was.
William Douglas was no less a
savage than the rest of them.
There were no signs of other
Illegitimates about. Ketan took
Elta into the house and laid her on
the crude bed. She stirred as he
moved her. William Douglas bent
over and examined her closely. He
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
saw her breathing was good.
“Overcome by smoke, but she’ll
be all right. Open those windows
and see that she,gcts plenty of air.
The bums on her legs will be some-
what painful for a time, but they
aren’t serious. I’ll treat them and
have food brought to us.”
John Edwards merely stood
against the far wall, staring out the
window. Ketan saw his arm was
bloodly and hanging limp. What
thoughts were in the Illegitimate’s
mind, Ketan could not know.
William Douglas returned in a
moment with materials to treat
Elta’s burns. He left the injuries
unbandaged and turned to Ketan.
"Looks as if you need something
yourself.”
Ketan realized dully that the long
slash on his face was sending out
waves of pain, but he had forgot-
ten it. His legs and body were
bruised and cut by the blows of
clubs and rocks. Silently, he sub-
mitted to William Douglas’ ex-
amination and care.
He watched with a distant, ob-
jective curiosity as the marks on
his body were washed free of blood,
and compounds of herbs were ap-
plied and bandaged to the cuts and
bruises.
It was a strange and curious pro-
cedure. If such wounds had been
inflicted in Kronvveld no one would
have done anything to them. He
would have washed them, and if
they swelled and flowed with the
yellow compound as they usually
did he would have taken the self
death to alleviate the pain, or, if
he had refused that, he would have
RENAISSANCE
been taken to the Place of Dying
and abandoned.
There was no question of mercy
or pity in such treatment. It was
the only .possibility. The taboos
surrounding the investigation of life
processes had made Seeking into
the possibility of repair of sickness
and injury impossible.
Ketan wondered how many thou-
sands of lives would have been
saved through the simple remedies
of William Douglas if the Temple
of Birth had never been allowed to
perpetrate its blinding restrictions
upon Kronweld.
When he was through with Ke-
tan, William Douglas set John Ed-
wards’ arm and attended to his own
needs.
Carmen appeared with food that
had been prepared in another part
of the house. As if possessed of
some guilty knowledge, . she glanced
abashed at Ketan and did not speak.
They ate in silence.
At the end of the meal William
Douglas rose awkwardly and looked
at Elta. She was sleeping from the
effects of the herb drug he had
given her.
John Edwards had gone to his
own house, but William Douglas
sat down near Ketan and began
speaking in a low voice.
“I don’t know what you’re think-
ing, but I can guess,” lie said. "I’m
not going to try to explain or per-
suade. Perhaps I just want to hear
myself talk to keep from thinking
too much. Any time you want me
to stop, just say go.
“What you saw tonight must have
been like a knife through you. I
109
know, because I have lived among
the Statists for so many years.
Their blood lust is more refined.
“Ages ago, men used to breed
animals. One called. the dog, for
example, was originally a wild ani-
mal with no particular characteris-
tics except living and fighting and
hunting for food. But man took
individual dogs of slightly variant
characteristics and bred them. Aft-
er hundreds of years, there were
scores of different kinds of dogs
as different from each other as if
they were different animals.
“That’s how I think of man, him-
self, a huge collective animal.
Every trait of gentleness, beauty,
brutality and savagery is there.
Ages ago we existed and survived
in this welter of contrasts. All in-
dividuals realized the existence of
them.
“Then Richard Simons’ Selector
began breeding this great animal
for distinctive characteristics. The
scientific and the artistic and the
poetic were selected out and seg-
regated in Kronweld. Savagery
and tyranny were left behind. But
there was still something good re-
maining, and that, too, separated it-
self by its own force.
“That was the independence, the
lighting love of unhampered rights
to live without being owned body
and mind by a tyrannical so-called
superior class.
“These were the Illegitimates.
“You’ve seen them tonight.
You’ve seen their hate and their
blood lust. It’s not them, but it’s
a part of them. They’ll still give
every particle of energy to the over-
170
throw of the Statists and the es-
tablishment of a just and scientific
way of life. But they’ll demand
their freedom. They prefer death
to anything less, and they’re savage
and cruel to any who challenge their
freedom. They need your science
— perhaps you could use some of
their vigor and independence.”
Ivctan did not answer. His eyes
stared unseeingly before him. Aft-
er a long time, William Douglas
went on.
“It happened about the same way
once before. The greatest pioneers
and freedom loving people that ever
lived upon this continent became for
a time the most brutal and savage.
They were among those who first
founded a civilization here, but they
became imbued with a rigidity and
intolerance that led them to burn
and drown and torture members
out of their own midst merely upon
accusations arising out of whims
and selfishness and fear. They
were called the Puritans. You will
read about them in the histories in
the pinnacle.”
In the room next to Elta’s, Ke-
tan lay awake on the pile of skins
thrown in a corner long after Wil-
liam Douglas had gone to sleep. lie
heard Elta moaning faintly and
tossing about in her drugged sleep.
Carmen was sleeping in the room
with her.
His thoughts were upon the
scenes of that night and upon the
words of William Douglas. And
now that Elta was here, and mi-
raculously safe, he knew there was
no great urgency to return to Kron-
ASTOUNDING SCIENCB-FICTrC^N
weld as there was before. He could
give the full powers of his atten-
tion to the commission of Richard
Simons.
He wondered if he had not by
accident stumbled upon the reason
for Igon’s failure. Perhaps Igon
had discovered just in time the bru-
tality and ignorant savagery of this
world and judged it not worth re-
turning to.
Surely that must be it.
Then Ketaif recalled his own ac-
tions. He recalled the blind emo-
tion that had poured through him
in that first instant when he saw
Elta, and guided him through to
her. He had not believed a brain,
his or any other, capable of such
feeling as he had experienced that
night
Slowly, lie realized what William
Douglas had implied, but not stated :
That within each man as well as in
the race, there were all the contrasts
of beauty and hate and love and
savagery. He thought of the Sta-
tist hunters who flew out of the sky
and burned the forest villages and
killed the Illegitimates like animals
for mere sport of it.
He asked himself : Was the ac-
tion of the Illegitimates logical in
the face of that?
The only answer he could find
within him was yes.
With their ignorance, their in-
herited crudities of life, the hope-
lessness of their position, there was
no other possible reaction except the
most brutal retaliation of which they
were capable. They were like those
others, of whom William Douglas
had spoken, who first founded the
nation that had become greatest on
this land, except that the Illegiti-
mates w,pre in a more hopeless posi-
tion.
They would have to be taught.
That would be the job of the men
of Kronweld, to fuse into them-
selves the heritage of this world of
Earth, and then amalgamate with
the Illegitimates to form the race
of which Richard Simons and his
scientists had dreamed.
His sleep was short and soon
sunlight burst in upon him. He
opened his eyes a moment, trying to
recall the terror of the nightmare
he had dreamed. Then he sat up
with the sharp realization that it
was no dream. Elta was here. He
had fought off on entire village of
Illegitimates to get to her.
There was a faint, welcome sound
from the next room. It was his
name upon her lips. He dressed
quickly and went in as Carmen
motioned from the doorway. She
smiled and looked at him without
condemnation.
Elta was lying where the sunlight
fell upon her hair. She was smil-
ing through the pain of the burns.
“I came, didn’t I?” she said.
“Elta I”
He fell to his knees beside the'
bed and buried his face against her.)
She felt his body tremble with a
great, subdued sob.
“Elta.” He raised his head and
repeated her name softly. “I had
thought that I should never see youj
again. Tell me what happened ; how
you came here.”
She looked at him hesitantly. ‘1
RENAISSANCE
171
wonder . . . how much you know.
Have you learned . . . everything?”
"Almost everything,” he said.
."Except about you — ”
"I am a Statist,” she said simply.
The earth seemed to sink away be-
neath him and a cold breath swept
over him.
"What does that mean?” he
asked.
"Listen to me, Ketan, and be-
lieve me. For ten tara I have been
in Kromveld. With Leader Hoult
and Teacher Daran I passed knowl-
edge and discoveries of Kronweld
back to Earth and the Statists for
their own uses. I saw no harm in
it. I didn’t realize that there were
others on Earth besides the Sta-
tists who were worthy of consid-
eration. The great masses of people
— I looked upon them as do all Sta-
tists. They arc considered breed-
ing cattle for the brains that go to
Kronweld to develop more luxuries
and riches for the Statists.
"But then a terrible plan was con-
ceived by the Statists. They grew
to believe that they were as capable
as the Seekers of Kronweld and
they feared that Kronweld would
soon discover the Gateway and in-
vade Earth, wiping out their rule
and their luxury. They decided to
wipe out Kronweld. Only one thing
more they wanted, and that was
the details of the machines you use
to employ atomic energies. When
.they are certain of their mastery of
these principles, they plan to turn
those forces upon Kronweld and
destroy it.
When I learned of this, I re-
belled. 1 refused to go further.
172
Neither Hoult nor Daran could un-
derstand what was being done on
atomic principles. I was the only
one of them able to understand, and
they forced me to give it to them
on threat of killing you because
they knew I . . . that we were to
make our companionship, to be mar-
ried, as they say on Earth.”
“You bought my life with that!
Why didn’t you tell me? I could
have protected myself.”
"No. Not from Hoult. You
saw how easily he had his way with
you when you appeared before the
Council. It was all a farce, your
appearance there. Hoult knew ex-
actly what would happen. You
could never have protected your-
self from him.”
"What of Matra? Who was she?
When I first met her she wanted
to kill you. In the Temple she told
me she understood what yon were
doing, and that I should trust you.”
"Matra was a Statist,” said El-
ta. "She came to the Temple more
years ago than anyone can remem-
ber. She was the main channel of
distribution through which infor-
mation came from Kronweld to the
Statists. That's what we thought.
“Now I know that during all that
time she was actually working
against Statists, withholding infor-
mation, distorting it so that Sta-
tist engineers couldn’t make sense
out of it. In a thousand ways she
retarded the flow.
"She knew me and Hoult and
Daran because wc had to work with
her. When she learned of the plan
to destroy Kronweld, she came to
you to get you to kill us. But her
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION
time was too short to tell you every-
thing you needed to know.
“If Leader Iloult had not inter-
rupted you that night, you . . . you
might have conic up behind me
while I was waiting for you and
killed me.”
“Elta !”
“I told Matra that I was going
through the Gateway to destroy it
and the Selector, sealing off the
worlds forever. I convinced her
that I was sincere and she gave me
the ring which was supposed to pro-
tect me somehow. I don’t know
how, because I never got to use it.”
“Destroy the Gateway! But you
would not have been able to come
back !”
“It would have been worth the
cost. I was willing to give you up
for that. I knew you could never
live among the Statists. There was
nothing that would keep them from
their intention to destroy. I had
the choice of my own happiness
with you, or seeing the destruction
of Kronweld. To have gone into
Dark Land as we had thought to do
once was a wild and wonderful
scheme, but we could not have lived
there. The Statists will destroy it
all when they come.
“I have failed in all I hoped to
do. Now ... I don’t know.”
“What happened in the Temple
after I left?”
“Matra was in comunication with
a secret band somewhere — I don’t
know where — who were struggling
to save Kronweld, she said. When
she learned what I intended she
gave her approval because she said
it seemed like the only way. But
she gave me the ring, which she
said would protect me and take me
to Igon when I passed through the'
Gateway. Igon — can you believe]
it!”
“Igon!” Kctan lifted his head
and looked out, seeing for a moment
in vision that slitn pinnacle in the
desert. “So Igon still lives,” he'
said slowly. “Was she sure of
that ?”
"She seemed very sure, though it
seems incredible.”
“But Anetel took the ring.”
“Yes. She didn’t know what it
was for, but she knew it was some 1
means of protection.”
“Why did you try to kill her?”
“The Statists only lately learned
that Matra had turned traitor to
them. They directed Anetel, my
sister, to go there and take charge
of the Temple after killing Matra.
1 found out about this too late to
save Matra.”
“Anetel — your sister?” Kctan
exclaimed.
“Yes. We are twins. But I
would have killed her to save Matra,
and prevent the information on
atomic applications from reaching
the Statists. I had already deliv-
ered them to her and it was partly
to get them back that I tried to kill
her. I thought she might send them
through and the Statists would at-
tack before I could destroy the
Gateway. But she sent the infor-
mation through and after you had
gone she sent me through, expect-
ing tliat I would be seized on the
other side and killed for my de-
sertion of the Statist principles.
RENAISSANCE
178
Incidentally, the wild story she told
you about what was on the other
side of the Edge was for the bene-
fit of the other Ladies. One of
them told me about it.”
‘‘How did you manage to es-
cape ?”
“It’s still a mystery to me. I was
seized as soon as I went through
by someone I didn’t know, l'wo
men. They told me to keep still
and I would be allowed to escape.
They took me through the city to
the outside where I was given a ship
and certain flying instructions. At
the spot where they directed me
to go there was nothing but for-
est. I landed in a small clearing and
then these savages seized me and
tried to bum me at the stake.
That’s all.”
Kctan frowned. “Who were the
men who freed you and gave you
the plane? Didn’t they say any-
thing to you?”
“Nothing. Apparently they knew
somehow that you were here and
wanted me to go to you. That was
the purpose of the rings, I think —
to bring us here. But you came
anyway, and I was guided here.
I don’t understand it.”
“Those men were probably part
of Matra’s — and Igon’s secret or-
ganization. Would you know them
if you saw them again?”
“I suppose so. Tell me now what
has happened to you.”
“I have found the pinnacle,” said
Ketan.
Elta’s face paled and she sank
slowly back upon the hard pillow
of animal skins.
“So you found it,” she said. Her
174
voice was so faint that he barely
heard her. “What did you find?”
Ketan looked at her in mystifi-
cation. “Why arc you so afraid of
what is in the pinnacle? What do
you know of it?”
“There is a legend among the
Statists — ages old — that there is
such a pinnacle and it contains the
secrets of how Kronweld came to
be. The legend says tliat someday a
man from Kromveld will find the
pinnacle and lead his people back
to claim Earth and destroy the Sta-
tists who have sent them there.”
“What is terrible about that?”
“Is the legend true?”
“Yes.”
“And you are that man?”
“Yes ... I don’t know !” Ketan
shook his head fiercely. “Igon was
there before me — and he failed.
There have been others, but where
are they? I must not fail. I will
bring them back.”
“No!”
For a moment their eyes locked,
fierce determination bridging the
gap between them.
“That must never happen,” Elta
said at last, softly.
“Why? We have been robbed
of the heritage of our natural world
and thrust into a hot, desolate, un-
natural place where even birth can-
not take place. Why shouldn’t we
come back to claim our world?”
Elta did not answer his question.
He said, “Tell me what happened
there. What is inside the pinna-
cle?”
After a moment, Ketan began
slowly, then with gathering force,
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to tell her of the trek to the rock
in the desert, of the amazing library
and repository of the science of a
dead world, ancl of the mission of
those who came to the pinnacle.
“The Selector was set to operate
at intervals of a thousand years to
draw back to it a group of those
who had power to understand the
plans of Richard Simons and his
scientists. Igon was the first. Per-
haps I am the last. How many be-
tween us — I don’t know. But Igon
failed. Or did he? Whether or
no, the mission is mine now. I
will carry it out. I am returning
to Kronweld' and taking exhibits
from the pinnacle. They can’t deny
iny story. They will come back
with me.”
“I didn’t know there had been
others,” Elta said slowly. *'I won-
der wliat became of them. What do
you think will happen when all of
Kronweld comes here?”
“Why, we’ll depose the Statists,
remove their hold upon this world
and take over its leadership as was
planned for us. The Illegitimates
will be with us. We will teach them
our science and they will teach
us — ”
“ — their savagery and primitive-
ness ?”
“Their love of freedom and their
strength to wait and endure and
build.” ■
“The poor fools ... the poor,
blind fools,” Elta said slowly. Her
eyes stared upon some faraway
point.
“The Illegitimates?”
“No — Richard Simons and his
'scientists and Igon and you — ”
174
“What are you talking about?
Richard Simons and his group
saved a world that might have died
if it hadn’t been for them. They
transplanted it where it could grow
unmolested by the degeneracy that
would have destroyed it. Now it
is time for that transplanting to be
moved back. It has grown strong.”
“No. That’s just it. There is
no strength in Kronweld. The kind
of strength that is needed upon
Earth. Can’t you see it, Kctan?
It would never work out. You of
Kronweld must never come back.
Oh, please try to see it. You are
blinded by the light of this ancient
false dream. It can never be any-
thing but a dream.”
"I don’t understand you. I
wanted to tell you this. I thought
you would be glad, that you would
believe in it and help.”
“It would be more cruel to bring
your people here than to leave them
and let the Statists destroy them.
I’ve lived in both worlds and I
know.
“This world is cruel. Here men
fight each other for survival and
the Earth and man are always fight-
ing each other. You saw naked
blood lust last night. That is noth-
ing strange in this world. It is a
common thing. What would you
men and women of Kronweld do
in such a world?”
“We would teach them a better
way of life.”
“You are gentle. Your lives are
art and music and poetry and days
in your laboratories. Not in the
thousand tara of your history is
there a record of a single occurrence
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
of war, which is the commonest
episode in the history of Earth.
You say you will come and take
this world away from the Statists.
Don’t you know that they can now
turn all the force of atomic energies
upon you and burn you out of ex-
istence before you can make a
move?”
“We could use those forces as
well as they. We can invent and
build far more destructive machines
than they can if necessary.”
“You don’t know how to fight.
The sight of blood is nauseating to
the strongest men of Kronweld. T
deliberately inflict damage on an-
other human being is the most in-
comprehensible thing in your lives.
Do you think you can take such
men and make bloody warriors out
of them overnight ? They’re as gen-
tle as children and the grown men of
Kronweld could no more form an
army with their mental conditioning
than they could have the moment
they burst out of the Temple of
Birth.”
“They could be trained — ”
“Think of yourself. You told
me how it affected you when you
first struck William Douglas.”
“I overcame it well enough last
night. I was glad to kill and hurt
them.”
“You were insane. The sight
of what they were doing to me
wiped out all your conditioned re-
straint. It still lias a grip on you,
and when it lets go you are going
to be sicker and more disgusted
with yourself than ever before in
your life. But even so, an army
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from Kronwcld will have tio such
incentive. They will shrink and
run at the first sight of destruction
and blood.”
“The only proof I can offer you,”
said Ketan, “will be the actual ac-
complishment of the fact.”
“Suppose you should succeed in
gaining power. What would you
do then?”
"We would make of this world
the paradise that Richard Simons
dreamed of.”
“What would you do with the
millions whom the Statists have op-
pressed into submission, and with
the thousands of rebellious Illegiti-
mates ? Don’t answer me ! I’ll tell
you what you’d do. You’d bring
on the greatest period of anarchy
and chaos that has been known since
the dissolution of world govern-
ments in Richard Simons’ time.
"He asked you if you were ready
to govern. I’ll answer him for you.
You of Kronwcld know nothing of
government. The machine could
try for ten thousand years and none
of you would ever be ready. Be-
cause you have been almost all of
one mind and one impulse, you
have had little need of govern-
ment. To take care of this small
need you built the Karildex. No
one among you is experienced in
leading and forming laws and ad-
ministering them.
“To bring about the world you
propose you would need thousands
of men skilled in leading and in
forming and administering laws.
As it is, you would be children try-
ing to lead old and wise and evil
to be cc
adults. You would surely fail in
any such attempt.”
“But wc shall make the attempt,
at least,” said Ketan. “What of
Igon and Matra and the evidence
of the opposition which you
found?”
“I don’t know. But I do know
that it is too late to make any long
plans. The Statists are going to
act — and quickly! We must act
first. We must destroy the Selec-
tor and close the Gateway. You
and I will have to make our lives
here as best we can.”
Elta reached out and took his
hand in her own. “We can be
happy as long as we are together.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give it up as
lightly as that. This is not a little
thing of personal beliefs or pre-
judices. It’s the fate of a world
we’re talking about. It’s the ful-
filling or failing to fulfill the rea-
son for the existence of Kromveld.
If we fail in this, we might as well
have remained and died or have
been as the Illegitimates.”
“Richard Simons’ dream was so
terribly wrong. Ilis selection and
isolation of you produced exactly
the opposite effect that he planned.
Instead of making you more fit, it
made you less fit for leadership on
Earth. Had you remained, you
might have been strong enough to
lead a revolution that long ago
would have freed Earth, but not
now.”
“You will not help me?”
She looked steadily into his eyes.
“I will oppose you with all the
powers I can command.”
178
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